Run Away, Baby
by kellyanne2192
Summary: Eighteen years after the lights went out the war is over, Texas has all but wiped out the remaining Patriot forces, and Monroe and Charlie are married. But that's just the beginning of their troubles. (Revolution, Charloe) - Please Review!
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hello, dear readers! This is my first attempt at writing a story for Charlie and Monroe, one of my all-time favorite "non"-couples. The basic outline for this story has been bumping around in my head for a while now, and I'm so excited to finally have the time to write it! Please let me know what you think - fresh perspectives are ALWAYS helpful. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

This book belongs to

Charlotte Matheson Monroe

I haven't had much use for this book before. It seemed too empty. And I wasn't sure what I'd fill it with anyway. But maybe this is something I should remember. Because the past few years are already fading away. I should be glad to forget, but with all the bad that gets taken away, the good is stolen along with it. And I'll need to remember something good someday. Even if that good doesn't come for a long time. When it does, I'll be waiting.

I thought that the Revolution was… hard, I guess. It was. But at least I knew I still had my family. Now I have this book.

I gripped Annie's hand. Hard. I could feel my heart running a marathon in the front of my chest, just below the skin. Roars and shouts echoed from the rooms below. The crash of whisky bottles against the walls of my home forced me to remember my mom's glass angel. I never got why it meant so much to her – something about it belonging to my grandmother. It's stupid to have something so fragile – even more stupid if you care what happens to it. Things always break. But in that moment, my stomach nearly heaved when I pictured the small figurine lying broken on the floor next to some shattered liquor bottle. I should've kept it in my bedroom. But he'd said he didn't want it near him. He's always hated her – hated my mom. I used to get that.

He was still entertaining his _friends_, and wouldn't bother to remember me for at least another hour. And by that time we'd be too far out of his reach – past the Republic's border. And he'd never find us.

My husband _will never_ find me.

Annie checked the empty hallway leading to my bedroom for any sign of him, while I worked open the stiff windows. He hadn't yet put locks on them at least. Probably due to the fact that they were on the fourth story of our- _his_ house. Fortunately, we've been through far worse than a forty-foot drop. We survived the Revolution.

But that's all I can say. We aren't safe (yet). We're going to look for Miles in Texas first. It's an obvious move, but I'm not sure what else we can do at this point. But wherever we go, we'll need a head start if we're going to outrun my husband – President Sebastian Monroe.

Charlie Matheson

* * *

Charlotte Monroe stared down at the nearly-two pages she'd filled with her ramblings. Brushing her fingers over the inscription on the first page - her mother's beautiful script, so unlike her own - she barely recognized her own name. Charlotte Matheson_... Monroe._ Suddenly, she slammed the little leather journal shut and threw it, along with an ancient pen into her bag. _Gaaa_, she was pathetic.


	2. Chapter 2

_Damn. Damn. DAMN. She must've left last night. Maybe early this morning. I'll need my shotgun, handgun, food, water, and supplies. Who knows how long it will take to find her._

Calling out for Forbes and Hamilton, two of his finest officers, Sebastian Monroe jerked his hand through the blond curls falling in his eyes. Charlotte was going to get herself killed. By his men looking for a new toy; by crazy as hell Texans; by a Plains Nation clan. By him. He growled deep and low, standing to pace the room. The floor tilted dangerously thanks to a wicked hangover.

Cursing himself, Charlie, and the world in general he stumbled over to the door, nearly tripping over his newest officer who, apparently, had passed out sometime during the night's revelry. Bass sneered. Only a weak man couldn't hold his liq- The world spun like a supercharged merry-go-round before his eyes, and Bass lost his balance. As he hit the floor, hard, glass crunched beneath his left shoulder, piercing his military jacket. Wincing, he rolled to side and struggled to stand. Damn beer bottle probably. Back on his feet, Bass turned to glare at the offending bottle. Instead, he found himself staring into the bright blue eyes of an angel.

_Charlie. _

No. Not Charlotte. Just a broken glass figurine. Shaking his head to clear it, Bass began brushing the shards off his jacket shoulder. _Not Charlie. It's not Charlie, it's… _ Bass's head snapped back towards the shattered angel. It was the one Rachel had given Charlie on their wedding day. She'd been crying, her accusing eyes as vivid a blue as her daughter's as she'd watched Charlie show him the angel. He'd smiled and nodded at Rachel, ignoring the way she stiffened whenever he looked directly at her, before turning back to his wife. Charlotte's face had been so bright and happy. He'd never seen her look so relaxed – she'd even agreed _not_ to wear a knife strapped to her calf that day. But only after he'd promised, reluctantly, to be a perfect gentleman…

The door to his library opened, bringing Bass back to reality. Two of his highest-ranking officers strode in, dressed in pristine Militia uniforms.

"You asked for us, General?"

"Yes." President Sebastian Monroe turned away from the angel and straightened his shoulders. "Something of mine's gone missing." He smiled darkly. "And the two of you are going to help me find her."


	3. Chapter 3

"Charlie?" The whisper threaded through their small, one-night camp like a ghost. Rolling onto her side, Charlie scanned the darkness around her until she found what she was looking for – a pair of reflective green eyes. Annie.

"Yeah?" Charlie could've sworn. She'd thought her voice would sound steady, strong. Apparently, not.

"Are you…?" Annie sighed. "I mean, are you going to be-" But Charlie's sudden fit of laughter cut her off.

"OK? Am I going to be OK? Sure. Why wouldn't I be?" Leaning over her pack, she rifled through two spare shirts, one pair of pants, underwear, and the rest of her supplies in search of her hunting knife. Her nails scratched the bottom of the bag. _Damn it all to Hell. _Annie tried again.

"You're doing the right thing, you know." Charlie's chest suddenly felt too tight

"Am I?" Turning, she looked back at Annie in the dim firelight, noticing again the bruises around her friend's throat and along her collarbone. Charlie winced.

"You can't wait for a person to hurt you twice. Once they do it the first time, they'll always do it again." Annie's smile was sad – looking at it made the ice creeping up into Charlie's heart crackle and snap like an arctic fire. Annie sounded so much like Charlie's mom, sometimes. Rachel had said something just like that to Charlie on her wedding day. _He's going to do something to hurt you one day, Charlotte. Sooner rather than later, probably. He can't help it. Men like him never can._ Instantly, remembered anger flared up in Charlie, before being promptly smothered by the reality of her current situation. _And baby, when he does, please come home. _In a daze, Rachel had managed to pull her into a brief hug before Charlie came to her senses and pushed her away. Rachel's red-rimmed eyes were filled with tears; she looked more like a 5-year-old kid begging her mom to leave the hallway lights on at night than a 50-year-old woman who'd just insulted the man her only daughter loved enough to marry.

But in the end, Rachel had been… right.

So had Annie. Ever since she and Charlie had met at one of Bass' dinner parties, Annie had always seemed to keep at least one eye on Bass, never turning her back to him, and the other eye on her new husband, Alex Hamilton – one of General Monroe's top officers. At first, Charlie'd thought that Annie had a thing for him, which, needless to say had gotten her relationship with the only other girl her age off to a rocky start. But after noticing more of the little details – the almost-but-not-quite-hidden black and blue marks on Annie's skin peeking through layers of makeup, the way she tensed whenever her husband was nearby, and the way her laughter was always a bit too forced – Charlie knew that Annie was no threat. After that, their conversations had become more genuine, neither working so hard to hide from or decode the other's conversation. They'd become friends. And that was something Charlie hadn't had since Danny died. _Danny_.

Charlie looked up at Annie, who was now snoring softly on the other side of the dying campfire. She must've fallen asleep waiting for Charlie to answer her. If getting lost inside your own head was a sin, Charlie would be the worst sinner of all. Sinking back down to the cold ground, Charlie tried to think about anything but the bed she usually slept in – or the man in it. Charlie shifted, trying to find a good position. She hadn't just left for herself. She'd done it for everyone under Monroe's increasingly terrifying rule. He wasn't the monster he once was. Not yet. But with time, he would be.

She'd done it for Annie too. And just like it had been with Danny, it was Charlie's job to protect Annie, and not just from her bastard husband. Helping Charlie get away from Monroe would've definitely earned her a spot on Bass' hit list. And Charlie couldn't bear to lose another person she cared about to Sebastian Monroe. So that left her with two options: find a way to dethrone Monroe, or force him to kill her along with the rest of his enemies.

* * *

_Charlie's hands shook like mad, but her gaze was deadly calm. Sebastian Monroe would die tonight. He'd never hurt another living soul. Although he might give Lucifer a run for his throne once she'd personally sent him straight to Hell. _

_The New Vegas smoke was as thick as fog around her, pressing down on her head and shoulders, making her fingers itch on her crossbow's trigger. Waiting was always the worst part – waiting for your target to make their final appearance. Waiting to see their eyes widen with shock and dismay and fear when the fatal shot struck. But this time, the wait was worth it. She'd get to see the moment he realized _he_ was going to die. Maybe she'd even make it so the first shot didn't kill him right away. Maybe she'd walk over to stand beside his body while he spasmed with pain – he'd look up, maybe for the first time in his life, in terror, into her eyes. And then she'd shoot the bastard in the face and watch him die._

_The door to Monroe's scuzzy little trailer flew open, and out staggered the man of the hour. His curly hair stuck to his forehead, and his clothes looked like he'd been wearing them for weeks. Head down, Monroe slowly made his way toward the nearest casino. Charlie shifted from her crouch and repositioned her crossbow. Setting Monroe in her sights, she notched the arrow, and-_

_"__I love you, Danny."_

_-let if fly._

Charlie woke up shaking. The dream – a memory really – was already fading, but a deep dread remained. It was like being told the sun would never rise again, and then staring for days at the horizon, hoping and praying that it wasn't true. Crouching there, on the hard, unbroken ground, Charlotte Monroe could barely keep her tears from falling.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Sorry that I took a while to update and that these first few chapters have been a bit episodic in nature. I promise that they'll get longer as the story picks up. It just felt right to end them where they did. I hope you all are enjoying my take on Charlie and Monroe's flint-and-fire relationship - I still just have so many unresolved feelings about them... Anyway, just to clear up any confusion about the timeline of this story, Chapter 1 is set about a year after the end of the second season (I am allowing about a year a piece for each of the TV seasons, which brings us to a grand total of 18 years after the blackout), and as far as most of the characters know, the Nano is gone for good... This story is how I see Charloe's story progressing if they had renewed Revolution for well-deserved additional seasons. And hopefully, if you all like this story, I'll write a prequel that shows how my favorite couple got into the sticky situation they find themselves in in Chapter 1... So please review!**

**And just as a reminder, I do not own Revolution or any of its characters, but God help all the non-Charloe fans out there if I did...**

* * *

Annie liked to believe that she wasn't exceptionally stupid; but she knew for a fact that she wasn't blind. From that first terrible dinner party at Monroe's colonial castle, she'd seen the way Charlie's eyes followed her husband, _and_ the way that Monroe's hand clenched into a fist whenever it wasn't wrapped possessively around Charlie's waist. The two of them really did make quite a pair: a middle-aged dictator with trust issues and a beautiful young fighter who, rumor had it, had once tried to kill him. And from the whispers and sideways looks circulating around the ballroom, Annie hadn't been alone in her observations.

The gossip surrounding their marriage was legendary. _The great Sebastian Monroe weds the niece of his former General, the Butcher of Baltimore, Miles Matheson. B_ut even without all the speculation, Charlie never really had a chance of making friends within Monroe's inner circle. Everyone she came into contact with was either terrified of her husband or secretly wanted him dead, the second type of course blending seamlessly into the sea of Monroe's fawning admirers in order to avoid execution.

Oh yes, the New Republic, like the Old, still had plenty of executions. If anyone had ever thought that marriage might have inspired a more merciful side to Monroe, they were sorely mistaken. Sure, now he didn't seem like was about to shoot somebody in the face at any given moment, but if the brutality of of his officers was any indication, the goals of the New Republic would not be so different from the Old. And Annie sure as Hell wasn't going to wait around and watch the inevitable bloodbath that always resulted from one man's greed, no matter what her husband said about it.

Annie fingered the fresh bruises around her neck, and the one on her thigh that she hadn't even told Charlie about yet - there was really no point now. Wincing, Annie tried not to picture Alex's face when he found out that she'd run away along with Charlie. But, son of a bitch that he was, his cold, dead brown eyes rose up in her mind like a phantom anyway, raising goosebumps all over her body.

No she wasn't blind. If anyone could recognize happiness, it was someone who'd been happy once but... wasn't now.

Someone like Annie.

Charlie _had _been happy with Monroe. Annie'd seen it. Somehow or other, they'd stood side by side at every Militia event, smiling at one another, laughing at the private jokes only real lovers share when they're laying in bed at night. In fact, Annie still wasn't quite sure why Charlie was finally wiling to leave her husband. She only knew what Charlie had told her - that Bass was going to do something terrible and had to be stopped. But Annie wondered if that was all that it was. She didn't doubt for a second that Monroe could be every bit as twisted inside as her own husband if he wanted to. But for Charlie's sake she hoped he wasn't. Besides, she'd seen how Monroe acted around Charlie - always looking out for her, always protecting her. Maybe he hadn't abused Charlie the ways Annie had initially feared...

Through her lashes, Annie looked back at the only friend she'd ever had. Charlie may've thought that she'd fallen asleep when Charlie had failed to answer her, but sleep had never come easily for Annie. So she saw when Charlie woke up gasping for air, fearfully murmuring Bass' name over and over again. Annie's fists clenched involuntarily. _I was wrong. _Charlie was clearly terrified of Bass. She was having nightmares about him for God's sake! The man must truly be a monster to have hurt someone as special as Charlie.

* * *

The midmorning sun glared down at Sebastian Monroe as he purposefully strode straight ahead, his officers nearly running to catch up with him. Nobody could stop him. And from the look in his eyes, anyone would be a damn fool to try. Charlie had been missing for at least four hours, maybe longer. Missing… Bass slowed and nearly had to brace himself on Captain Hamilton, who'd been trailing him all morning. _What if- _Bass cursed and nearly stumbled. What if Charlie hadn't run off at all? What if she'd been taken? Dear God, if anything happened to her, anything at all, he'd rain blood down on the whole continent. Monroe spun toward his officers.

"Rogers!" The man quickly stepped forward.

"Yes, General?" Lieutenant Rogers was young but reliable, and Monroe needed every good man he had working to find Charlie.

"Have the men finished searching my wife's room? Bass tried to keep his eyes trained on the young man before him, but the sun in his eyes was making it hard. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes, sir. No signs of a struggle have been found and there seems to be very little, if anything, missing from Mrs. Monroe's room." The young man looked crestfallen to have so few details to impart. "But Captain Forbes has ordered another sweep through just in case." Monroe's heart fell. No clues, then. He was an excellent tracker, but even he would have trouble following Charlie's trail.

The way he saw it, one of two things had happened. Either Charlie was abducted by someone who would very soon be dead, or she'd left on her own... Which she wouldn't. Why would she leave? _She wouldn't. _Wouldn't she? _No. She wouldn't. _Bass shook his head, trying to clear it. _I know s__he wouldn't leave me - wouldn't leave. _ Maybe she wasn't very happy with you. _No, she was. _She_ wouldn't leave... _Are you sure? _She wouldn't. I know! _

As he came to his senses, Monroe slowly realized that he was hunched on the ground clutching his head in both hands, trying to stop the voices. A buzzing noise by his left ear, which slowly evolved into a man's worried voice, made him cringe. _Ssssssseeeeeerrrr, ssssss, ssiiiiirrrrrrr, ssssssiiirrr, siir, sir, sir, sir, ssss, sir, SIR-_

"Sir!" Lieutenant Rogers was leaning over him, a nearly-frantic concern on his face. Monroe gripped his head even tighter.

"Get away from me!" Bass screamed. "Where is she?! I need to see her." Looking around, Hamilton and Rogers were a few feet away, staring at him like he'd lost his his mind. Furious, Monroe surged to his feet. "WHERE'S CHARLOTTE?" Surprisingly, it was young Rogers who answered first, while Hamilton continued to look on in consternation.

"She's not here, Sir." The lieutenant slowly moved toward him, a pleading expression on his childlike face. Bass sank back to the ground

"Where is she?" Monroe's head hurt like Hell, but he had to know.

"That's what you were trying to find out. In fact, Sir, I believe you were just about to organize a search party to begin looking for Mrs. Monroe." The merciless pounding inside Monroe's skull had lessened, and he found he could even focus on Rogers' face. The young man seemed to be able to tell that his leader was finally coming out of it because he brightened with relief. Accepting Rogers' proffered hand, Monroe pulled himself to his feet. Both Rogers and Hamilton snapped to attention.

"What are your orders, General?" Hamilton sounded wary, causing Monroe's own shoulders to straighten. Taking a measured breath, Monroe fell back into the role he was born to play.

"Organize a unit of your best men. Tell Forbes that both you and he will be accompanying me on this mission. Prepare for at least five weeks without any supplemental provisions, and pack accordingly." The President of the New Republic turned toward the younger man. "You too, Rogers. I want you with me. Tell the men to inform their families that they may not be back for a few months. We're not stopping until we find her-"

"General Monroe!" The shout from behind brought Bass reeling around, nearly colliding with the sergeant racing toward him.

"What is it, soldier?" Monroe tried to keep the annoyance out of his gravelly voice.

"One of the men just found something in Mrs. Monroe's wastebasket." He held out a crumpled slip of paper for Monroe to take. "It's a note, Sir."

Bass snatched the paper out of the man's hand and quickly began to read.

_Bass,_

_This may come as a surprise to you, but really you left me no other choice. And if you're not sure why I left, just think about it - really think about it. You're out of control Bass. Just like before. And I'm not going to stand by your side while you murder innocent people for power. We're on different teams now, Bass, even though we both said that'd never happen. And even though I'm the one leaving, you know who really left first. _

_Charlie_

* * *

Alex Hamilton watched the General's face carefully. Monroe was brilliant, no one could deny that, but it was times like these when he worried whether or not he'd made a wise choice in joining the New Republic. In the beginning, Alex had been dubious of the _great_ Sebastian Monroe - hadn't the man lost his empire once already? Who's to say it wouldn't happen again? Hamilton's lips twitched up into the barest hint of a smile. _Well, as things stand now, that would be me._ As one of Monroe's closest advisors, Alex planned on doing everything in his power to ensure that the Republic didn't fall to pieces again. After all, he wanted to rule the Republic someday, didn't he? Better to keep it from self-destructing entirely then.

Refocusing his attention on Monroe, he noticed the way the older man's (well, he was in his mid-forties) lips were trembling slightly as he held the paper, like he desperately wanted to say something but couldn't. Alex gritted his teeth in frustration - _all this sentiment_. It was pathetic.

Why did Monroe even give a damn at all? Women are supposed to be disposable - when you finish with one, move on to the next. The little Matheson bitch hadn't been worth nearly this much trouble, even if she was hot as Hell. For his part, Alex wouldn't have really minded a roll in the sheets with her... He glanced back at Monroe. But judging by the way the General always looked at her, Alex had quickly realized that that was _never_ going to happen. _At least not until I'm running the Republic, that is. _But for now, Alex needed to stay in Monroe's good graces. The man's leadership now would keep the Militia unified and the Republic's citizens afraid. Perhaps when all was secure, and Monroe had finally taken over the continent, Alex would see to it that the General suddenly died... Of natural causes, _of course_. However, until then, he needed Monroe at his best.

Truthfully, Hamilton had worried that the man had lost his famous inner fire in the pursuit of marital_ bliss_. But as he watched the President read the wrinkled note, watched his icy blue eyes dim with disappointment and then blaze with deadly fury, watched the once-great General being resurrected before his very eyes, Alex grinned with cold certainty and thought passingly of his own wife. _We're coming for you, Annie. _Head high, expression dangerously calm, General Monroe gave the final order.

"Prepare the men. We leave in an hour."

At last, the true Sebastian Monroe was back.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Happy Valentines Day everyone! I hope you're all spending time with the people you love. Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed - it really helped inspire me to get this chapter out in time for V-day. And never fear, even though our favorite couple isn't exactly together for Valentines day, it doesn't mean that they aren't still thinking of one another... I really hope you enjoy this and please leave a review if you have time! Happy V-day!**

* * *

_STOP_

_"Bass, stop. Please! Stop. Please Bass... please! _Stop." _Charlie squealed happily. "Your just supposed to get the garter and GET OUT." Her husband's laughter tickled the skin of her thigh, making her almost wish she hadn't let Rachel talk her into a small reception after the wedding ceremony. But, Charlie couldn't take that away from her mom - as unhappy as Rachel was about Charlie's choice in men, she'd been ecstatic at the opportunity to help Charlie plan her wedding. With the way things had been over the past couple of years, she'd never thought she'd get the chance. And after all, Rachel's own marriage to Miles only a few weeks earlier had put her into quite a sentimental mood._

_"Bass, what's taking you so long?" Charlie asked the man submerged waist-deep into the folds of her wedding dress, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. "You know, most men know what their doing when it comes to-" Charlie broke of in a gasp as/when Bass' teeth grazed her inner thigh, just below the lacy garter. Damn that garter! Who'd come up with this... this stupid... tradition... But Charlie's heart wasn't in her internal ranting. In fact, if it weren't for all the people watching -_ including Miles and her mom - _Charlie might've gained a healthy respect for the tradition in... all it's forms. But for now, well, thank God she was sitting down._

_The roughened hands holding her slim leg still tightened slightly and Charlie braced herself for another _assault. _But Monroe knew her too well. He ran his nose along the curve of her knee, making her shiver and relax. That wasn't so ba- That's when he bit her. Not hard, but not gentle either. It wasn't a nibble and it wasn't a mauling. It was... intoxicating. Bass' lips lingered on the sensitive skin of her lower thigh, pressing a gentle kiss over the subtle marks his teeth had left. Placing one hand on her upper thigh, and one hand on her lower, Bass' mouth finally closed over the garter and he began to pull._

_"Thank God," Charlie breathed. She seriously worried about her ability to stand after Monroe's little self-guided tour. She'd experienced a lot in her 22 years, but never anything quite like that. Bass nearly had the garter at her ankle now, and Charlie was weighing the wisdom of her sudden desire to kick her new husband in the face, but __at that moment __some man in the crowd of wedding guests took it upon himself to clear his throat, rather loudly. Charlie's head snapped up and she could feel Bass pause. Slowly, her eyes lost some of their bridal haze and she focused on the throat-clearer. Miles. Why was she not surprised? __Beside him, Rachel was gazing up at the man she'd married, a small smile on her lips._

_"I don't mean to rush this, Bass, but if you could get out from under my niece's skirt sometime before we both turn 100, that'd be great." Shouts and laughter bounced through the crowd, and more than one father slapped Miles on the back while their own daughters hung back, blushing furiously in embarrassment. _

_But instead of feeling embarrassed, Charlie felt more at ease than she'd felt all day. This was how things were supposed to be. Bass and Miles giving each other a hard time, Charlie rolling her eyes and laughing right along with them, and Rachel always trying to be the responsible one but secretly happy about getting getting sucked into their childish banter all the same. For the first time since she and Bass had told her mom and Miles that they were getting married, Charlie truly believed that they could all actually be a family someday._

_Bass' hot breath blew in between her legs as he laughed and shouted out a reply._

_"Brother, I didn't try to screw you over on your wedding day, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep the commentary to a minimum on mine. You're embarrassing my wife." __Charlie laughed loudly at this, and he pinched her calf playfully in return. "And if you can't contain yourself, I'd like to personally invite you to go to Hell." Another wave of laughter and cheers went up from the crowd - this time from all the young men standing steadfastly beside their sweethearts - and Bass took his own sweet time pulling the garter free of Charlie's foot._

_Finally, delicate garter in his mouth, Bass emerged from beneath the silky fabric of Charlie's wedding dress. He looked up at his bride, his blue eyes shining, and slowly took the garter from his mouth. Rising, Monroe moved to stand beside Charlie, his right hand coming to rest gently on her back and his left holding the garter out for the crowd's inspection. Bass smiled like'd he'd just seen the sun for the first time._

_"If you don't mind, gentlemen," Bass paused, looking down at Charlie and smirking, "I do believe I'll keep this." Boisterous laughter followed, swirling around the new couple like mist, allowing them a brief moment of privacy._

_Charlie swallowed, trying to recognize the feeling that was making her stomach clench and her mind go startlingly blank. All of a sudden, her palms felt sweaty and she hoped that her husband wouldn't notice. Nervous? Was she really nervous? It was just Bass, just... Her husband... Without a thought, her eyes flew to Bass's, which were already smiling down at her from his handsome face. Time seemed to slow down around them; or maybe it sped up, who knows? But either way, the two of them were in a world entirely of their own. _

_Bass lowered the arm holding the garter and tucked _the little ring of lace_ safely into the pocket of his freshly ironed trousers. Then he raised a hand, hesitantly at first and then more sure of himself, to brush one of Charlie's wispy curls out of her face. That done, his warm hand came to rest on Charlie's cheek, making her heart skip a few beats. Sebastian Monroe's icy blue eyes were filled with happiness and love as he stared down at Charlie, thanking the God he'd stopped believing in for every single part of her._

_"I love you, Charlotte." Charlie's eyes closed briefly, and then reopened, failing to hide the happy tears that had gathered on her lashes._

_"I love you too, Bass."_

* * *

As the memory came to an end, Monroe found that the familiar rocking motion of his horse beneath him was far from comforting. Bass grimaced, easily recalling every detail of her beautiful face - tanned skin, long blonde waves, and sparkling blue eyes... Reaching for the thing he'd carried with him every day since his wedding, over 6 months ago, Bass' fingers brushed against the familiar feel of the lace and silk he kept in his uniform's breast-coat pocket. Charlie's lace and silk.

Eyes dry and itchy, Bass indulged in his memories for just one moment more before pulling his hand away. He scanned the empty road ahead and then looked back at the soldiers following him. They'd find Charlie. Maybe even today. But what then? _I'll convince her to come back with me. _ Really? You'll do that. _Yes. _How? _I'll tell her how much I- _Love her? _Yeah. _Because that kept her from running in the first place didn't it? Oh, no. Itdidn't. _Shut up! She'll come back once I tell her- _What will you tell her? That you'll give up the Republic? That everything you've done was to protect her? You know that won't work. Charlie sees black and white, good and evil. She'll never believe you. You're not even sure if you believe you- _I said SHUT UP! _

Monroe's head was pounding. Strangely enough, the little voice inside his head was getting to sound a lot more like his first in-command, Hamilton, with each passing day. Either way, it was getting harder for Bass to even think without it chiming in. Monroe groaned quietly. The pain in his head was getting unbearable, but there was no way in Hell he was going to stop until he found Charlie. He just need a drink. And a soft bed. And his wife. Bass sighed.

Yeah, there was definitely somewhere else he'd rather be on Valentine's day than searching for his valentine.

* * *

When Annie woke up - she must've fallen asleep at some point during the night - the first thing she noticed was that it was very very bright. Like, interrogation room bright. The two of them should've been long gone by now; Monroe's men wouldn't be far behind. Sitting up quickly, she took stock of her surroundings.

_What the Hell?_

The sun, high in the sky; the birds, making the trees around their little camp rustle; Charlie, sitting and staring off into thin air-

"Charlie?" No answer. "Charlie?" Annie tried to keep the panic out of her voice. Her friend's eyes just looked so vacant. She'd never seen Charlie look like this before - like she'd finally given up. Well, Annie was _not _going to let that happen.

"Charlie, dammit, _answer me!" _Charlie's head turned slightly in her direction, but her expression remained as blank as Annie had ever seen it. And her skin looked a little pale too... Annie got up quickly and ran over to her.

"Oh God, Charlie. What happened to you?" Annie checked her forehead, looking for a fever. Nothing. "Charlie, you've got to tell me what's wrong, otherwise I won't know how to help you." Annie's voice was getting frantic. "Come on, Charlie. Monroe's could be here any second, and we. Need. To. Go."

Before Annie realized what was happening, Charlie's head snapped up and she shot to her feet. The vacant look was gone, replaced by a wild woman's gaze. Charlie's breath had become rapid and labored.

"We have to go. Now." Charlie raced over to where she'd set her pack and stuffed the supplies she'd taken out back in. Slinging it over her shoulder, Charlie marched over to the fire, stamping out the last embers, and scattering the remaining logs with her foot, all the while muttering. "We need to go."

"Charlie. Charlie stop," Annie pleaded, and was surprised when Charlie whirled around to look at her like Annie'd just hit her with a stick.

"What'd you say?" Charlie's eyes were wide and wild, waiting for Annie's reply

"I told you to stop." Charlie's eyes cleared somewhat and she looked down in exasperated confusion. Annie infused her next words with as much authority as she could manage. "We do have to get moving, Charlie, but we're not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong with you?"

Slowly, Charlie's eyes met Annie's again. And this time, there was neither madness nor apathy in their depths. Instead there was fear.

"Annie," Charlie began slowly, hesitantly as if she were unsure whether or not all of this was real. "I'm pregnant."

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**Dun, dun, dun... Hope you enjoyed! And brownie points to the people who caught my season 2 Charloe reference. Lemme know what you guys think of the story so far...**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: I know, I know. It's been a month since I last posted, and I've totally missed getting feedback from you guys about my story. Sadly, my family has been dealing with multiple illnesses and emergencies lately, which, needless to say, has given me a lot less time to write. But I'm sure all of you can understand that, and I'm grateful for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, as I had a lot of fun writing it. And not to worry: I've finally figured out the full scope of where I want this story to go, and I am dedicated to writing it ALL. So rest assured, even if I don't post every week, I will always eventually post. Oh and by the way, even though I have an outline of this story in my head already, I would be more than happy to hear from you guys about where you'd like the story to go. Fresh perspectives and ideas always help, and ALWAYS get me writing. Enjoy, ya'll!**

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Walking down a backwater dirt road in the middle of nowhere with someone you've just quite possibly sent into cardiac arrest is quite an experience. _Not one that I would personally recommend, but hey, _Charlie thought wryly.

Annie hadn't said a word since Charlie had told her- told her... Damn, Charlie wasn't even ready to think about it too closely. The good news was, even if she was, you-know, she couldn't be that far along - she'd gotten her period three months ago. But nothing since then... Maybe she was overreacting. Women missed their periods all the time, didn't they? Just another way Mother Nature liked to screw with women, right?

Charlie closed her eyes briefly, trying to believe it.

But that explanation, comforting as it was, just didn't seem right. She'd always been pretty regular, and for her not to be now, just months after her marriage to a _very_ attractive man - Charlie winced. Well, was it any surprise that she might be... Still she couldn't say it

But _Hell_, wasn't she supposed to be throwing up and crying and holding guns to peoples heads and stuff? Sure, her head had been a little screwed up lately, but she _had _just left her dictator husband to go find her uncle, now married to her mother, who at one time had been best friends with Bass, in order to ask him for his help in stopping Bass' plans to take over the world.

_Well, that's not entirely fair to Bass. He's just planning to take over the continent for now._

_ What a guy._

_And anyway, any person who's not a little bit crazy after dealing with that kind of crap __FOR YEARS has got herself some pretty damn low expectations._

Charlie came out of her own thoughts just in time to watch her friend nearly drown in hers. Annie was walking alongside Charlie, her eyes unfocused, her face scrunched up in thought, dead quiet. She'd been like that for over an hour - ever since the two of them had silently packed up camp and hit the road. Honestly, Charlie was beginning to wonder if telling Annie the news had really been the best idea when she saw a flicker of movement to her left.

Apparently Annie was finally ready to get the heart-to-heart over with because she cleared her throat and straightened out her shoulders - before slumping back over, shoving her long hands deep into her pockets, and staring hard up into the sky like she was trying to find the words. After a few more minutes of silence, Annie just sighed and rubbed her forehead. Charlie almost smiled. It was scary sometimes just how much Annie reminded her of Miles.

"Is that why you decided to run?" Annie glanced over at her, her green eyes troubled.

For a split second, the question threw Charlie. Why would she go and force her child to grow up without ever knowing her father? Charlie'd grown up without one of her parents, and as a child she'd vowed that she would _never_ do that to one of her own kids. But...

_Oh yeah, because the man I married is a homicidal maniac._ Charlie dropped her gaze from Annie's, unwilling for her friend to see the momentary flash of pain that lit her eyes._ Still, apparently. And he'll never change._

Choking down one of the biting responses that always seemed to come too easily to her, Charlie looked back at Annie, knowing that for all the crap her friend was going to have to go through for helping her escape, well, she deserved the truth. And more than a little respect

_"_No, Annie, it isn't." Seeing the question - the rising panic - in Annie's eyes, Charlie added quickly, "but if I'd known I would've left anyway. Probably sooner." Although, it would've been hard to have been more efficient with the time they'd had than they'd already been. Confusion clouded Annie's face.

"Charlie, don't take this the wrong way but why would you still want to leave if you'd known you were pregnant?" The pained expression that crossed over Annie's face was only there for a moment, but it didn't escape Charlie's notice. And it could've been her imagination, but Annie's voice sounded a little ragged when she spoke again. "Didn't Monroe want kids?"

Charlie's chest suddenly felt too tight - but she just shrugged.

"Well Bass already has a kid."

"Yeah, Connor, right?" Annie dipped her head thoughtfully. "I remember Alex mentioning him once. Something about a fallout-"

"Yeah, they haven't seen each other in a while."

When it became clear that that was all Charlie was going to say about it, Annie shrugged and pressed on.

"Ok, so when did you find out about... the kid?"

"Just this morning."

That little confession hung in the air between them for a few minutes, each lost in her own world of thoughts. Until Annie broke the silence.

_"_Soooo..." Her voice sounded funny to Charlie's ears - she sounded almost _excited. _ Annie took a deep breath. "Are you sure, Charlie?" Charlie glanced over at her friend in surprise.

"I'm sorry, what?" Annie stared at Charlie, trying to match her friend's tone with some possible,_ rational _meaning. But nothing fit.

"Are you sure you're pregnant?" Annie's pale face lit up with a hesitant smile. "I mean, as sure as you can be with this type of thing?" Charlie stared at her friend in disbelief - Annie might as well have been jumping up and down like a freaking 10-year-old. This was _nothing_ to be excited about.

"You do get how this is a bad thing, right? Charlie tried to keep her voice level. "You know, 'cuz we're _on the run._ From both our husbands, by the way. So, all in all, this isn't the best thing that could happen right now."

"I know. I'm not an idiot, Charlie. Yeah, this is going to make some things a little harder. But I mean come on! You have to be at least a little happy. You're going to have a baby!"

"Well, yeah, Annie! Let's just throw a baby shower while we're at it, huh? Invite Miles and Rachel. Oh and we can't forget about Bass." Charlie barely registered the way Annie's smile had faded before starting up again. "Hey why don't we invite Alex too? It'll be great. We can play Guess Who Monroe's Gonna Kill Next and Whose Psychopathic Husband Is Gonna Be The First To Help Him. And who the Hell knows? We might both win a _freaking_ prize!" By the time Charlie finished, Annie's face had paled considerably, and there was no trace of the former smile. Instead, her eyes were full of tears and betrayal.

Charlie's racing heart stuttered.

"Annie, listen-" But the words stuck in her throat. _Shit. _Charlie couldn't believe it. The one person who'd risked everything to help her get away from the Republic, and here she was treating her like crap. Worse than crap, really. No matter what was going on in Charlie's own screwed-up life, bringing up Annie's husband was _way_ over the line. Hadn't Charlie seen firsthand what that man was capable of?

Charlie sighed deeply.

"Annie, I'm sorry. You don't deserve this. Any of it." She paused briefly, letting her natural courage buoy her next words. "And if it weren't for me you wouldn't have to put with it."

Annie's gaze found Charlie's instantly, the heat behind it nearly making Charlie take a step back.

"Don't _ever_ say anything like that again. If it weren't for you, I'd still be back in Chicago. With Alex." Charlie flinched. "Even if you hadn't run, it was only a matter of time before I did." Tears were trickling down Annie's face in a steady stream now. "Oh it would've killed me to never see you again, Charlie." She bit her lip, and then took a shuddering breath. "You're my best friend - my only friend... And I'm selfish enough to be grateful that you ran with me. I should want you to live a happy life. With Bass. With your baby_. _And I do! But... I'm also so relieved - that I - didn't have to leave on - my own." Annie was trying to pull herself together, but try as she might, the sobs kept coming.

Unsure what to do, Charlie just stood there for a second, watching her friend break down. She hadn't felt like a big sister in so long… she had no idea how to be one anymore. But, for Annie's sake, she had to at least try. Hesitantly, she moved toward the other girl and then slowly put her arms around Annie's shaking shoulders. And after a moment, Annie hugged Charlie back as hard as her thin arms would allow. They stayed like that for a few minutes, until Charlie gently pulled back.

"We both had our reasons why we needed to leave Chicago." Charlie stopped, stared hard at the ground, and then finally continued. "I know that I never told you what made me want to get the Hell out of the Republic so quickly. Why I need to get to Texas… There's - someone there who can help us."

"Help us?" Annie frowned. "With what, Charlie?" Looking a Hell of a lot calmer than she felt, Charlie met Annie's curious eyes with a look laced with iron.

"Miles is going to help us take down Monroe."

"I'm sorry, _what_?" Annie's eyes were wide with disbelief. "You're going to kill Monroe?"

"I never said that Annie!"Charlie angrily scrubbed a hand across her eyes._ "_We're _not _going to kill him." Charlie straightened her spine. "Not unless we have to."

"I don't get you Charlie! I mean, Hell, Aren't we trying to get _away _from him? Now you're talking about going back and _assassinating_ your husband? What the Hell, Charlie?"

"Do you think this is how I want things to be? Do you think I want to kill Monroe? Dammit, I _love_-" Charlie bit her lip. What was the point? "Annie, just listen for a second, OK?" Gaa, she was so tired. Annie nodded slightly, obviously hoping that Charlie hadn't completely lost her mind.

"About a week ago, I was going to meet Bass in his office for dinner. When I was passing by his briefing room, I heard voices. One of them was Bass's. So I was about to go in to remind him of our plans, but then I heard Alex's voice too. And no offense, but I never trusted that man."

"None taken," Annie replied wryly. Charlie smiled without any real conviction.

"So I waited by the door - I wanted to hear what they were talking about, and Alex always mysteriously seems to forget what he was going to say whenever I come into the room." Charlie paused, letting the memory of that night wash over her. "Then I heard it." Charlie glanced over at Annie, who was listening intently. "The two of them were weighing the pros and cons of invading the Georgia Federation this year or next year. Alex was pushing hard for this year. He said that Georgia's newest building project would be underway in a few weeks and would leave them vulnerable to attack since so many of their men would be on their southern border renovating Georgia's docks." after another deep breath, Charlie continued, softer than before. "And Monroe agreed." Her breaths were coming hard now, as the shock she'd felt that night came crashing back down on her. Shock and a sickening sense of betrayal. Bass had_ promised_ he'd never pull that psycho, dictator crap again._ Well, he lied._

"And then Monroe- he said that defeating Georgia first would make it easier for him to take the rest of the continent."

Charlie let her words hang in the air, giving Annie the chance to process how bad things really were.

"That's when I knew I had to find Miles. And, I was hoping that my being gone would - distract - Monroe. Give us the time we need to find Miles and get a solid plan together."

"So... Monroe, he never, uh... you know, hurt you?" Looking scared as Hell, Annie clenched her fists, ready to march straight back to the Republic and set Monroe on his ass if Charlie said he'd so much as looked at her funny. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them - Charlie looked absolutely horrified.

"God, no!" It was barely a whisper but it made Annie's heart a Hell of a lot lighter.

Monroe might be crazy as all outdoors, but at least he'd never hurt Charlie.

"Why would you even ask-" Charlie's mouth snapped shut. The faint memory of Annie, saying something like "You did the right thing... Once someone hurts you, they'll always do it again," popped into her mind. Charlie'd thought Annie had been talking about herself - Charlie'd been so busy thinking about how she was going to get the two of them to Texas that she hadn't really been listening that closely... Had Annie meant _her_?

"I thought maybe that's what made you decide to leave in the end." Looking sheepish, Annie avoided looking directly into Charlie's eyes, hoping that she'd just let the moment pass. But Charlie wasn't one to let injustices lie. It was one of the reasons Annie respected her so much. But dammit if that trait wasn't going to bite her in the ass today.

Charlie's fierce expression looked like it had been carved from stone.

"I swear, Annie, if I ever see that little son-of-a-bitch husband of yours again, I will make him suffer." Charlie's hand twitched toward the sword strapped to her hips - the one Miles had given her as a sort of going-away present. It was almost as good as having him there with her. And she knew that if he had been there with them, he would've been the first to volunteer to help Charlie put the fear of God into Alex Hamilton. _Who knows, maybe one day we'll get the chance? _Charlie squared her small shoulders. "I promise. That man is never going to hurt you again." Looking toward her friend, who's eyes remained fixed on the ground, she forced her voice to steady itself. "We'll both make sure of it." At that, Annie's head slowly rose, her gaze coming to meet Charlie's, who nodded. And then they both dropped it.

A few more minutes passed in silence, but the quiet was no longer tense with worry, or rabid with fear. It was almost... normal. Like the two of them were just taking another walk through the gardens behind Monroe's house and had stopped to smell the roses that were in bloom. And there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Well, maybe there was one thing.

Charlie smiled softly, letting the fantasy sweep through her.

The only thing she'd have to worry about was making sure Bass didn't declare a national holiday when she told him that they were going to have a baby. A spark of hope suddenly came to life within her. She could only imagine how he'd react, but...

She would ask him to go for a ride, and Bass would roll his eyes and smile down at her. Then, after he'd canceled all his meetings, and ordered a small party of soldiers to discretely follow them past the Chicago city limits, they'd saddle their matched horses and go. Flying through their city, they'd stay close together, neither of them willing to lose the other. And then when they reached that patch of sunny grass they'd found when they first came to Chicago, they would quietly slip away from their escort and stroll down to the pond they both loved - it looked so much like the one Bass had taught Charlie how to swim in.

And then she'd tell him, when they were both soaking wet from splashing one another and almost half the pond water was covering the rocky mud _outside_ of the pond.

He'd stare at her, blue eyes careful, wary lest they misunderstand. His brilliant gaze would dart down to her flat stomach and then back up to her face, trying to puzzle it out. And then, like the sunrise, comprehension would slowly dawn on his face. She'd take his hand in hers and he'd hold her close. A few hard-won tears would gather on his eyelashes as he smiled down into her bright, happy face. And then he'd kiss her, and kiss her, and... She could almost taste his lips on her tongue.

"So," Annie's normal, playful tone was back, shaking Charlie out of her daydream. Charlie was relieved to hear it, even if it was still a bit strained. And honestly, now wasn't the time or the place to be thinking about could-have-beens - they would only lead to more heartbreak. Besides, light was good right now; light was safe. And if Charlie was going to keep her shit together for both their sakes, for all the people that Monroe could hurt - _and, uh, for the kid too_ \- "light" was exactly what they needed to be right now. And brilliant girl that Annie was, she knew it. "Are we both just going to stand here all day, or do you actually want to get some quality exercise in before Monroe's men catch us?"

Charlie grinned and actually laughed out loud for once.

"Well, one, you're a smart-ass-"

"I am not!"

"-And two, we're not going to get caught." Charlie's blue eyes twinkled. "I happen to have a plan." Annie's eyebrow flew up so high, Charlie hoped it would get stuck that way.

"That's reassuring. Really it is. But maybe you could tell me what the plan is." She rolled her eyes. "_Before_ we get wherever the Hell we're going."

"You mean Texas?" Charlie supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, idiot. I know that. I was kind of hoping for something a little less vague." She looked hard at her friend. "Come on, Charlie! Are we gonna go south, east, west - through Georgia till we reach the Mexican border? Where?!"

"We're making a straight shot for Texas."

"Right. And next you're going to tell me that we're going through the Plains Nation." When Charlie didn't reply, the hairs on the back of Annie's neck began to tingle suspiciously. "Wait, hold on... you don't mean..." But Charlie just stared back at her, the slightest smile tugging at her lips. Annie growled in frustration. "Dammit."

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"Well, I've always said I wanted to see the Plains Nation. And besides this will give me a chance to work on my tan." Annie stretched out her arms in front of her for maximum sun exposure, and Charlie couldn't stop the stupid grin that was spreading all over her face - that was happening a lot lately, Charlie mused.

As a matter of fact, Annie'd never said anything of the kind. And if she had, Charlie would've smacked her over the head and set her straight. Nobody "wanted" to go to the Plains Nation - it was always a last resort type of thing. There were really only two types of people that entered the Plains: men who were slaves to their schedule or men who were slaves.

Fortunately for them both, Charlie and Annie were the first sort of traveler.

Glancing over to her left, she saw that Annie was pulling out the pink sunglasses she'd had the foresight to bring with her. Really, Charlie was impressed with how well her friend was handling everything. As far as she knew, Annie had never even been outside of Chicago for more than a day, and even if she had, she'd certainly never had to walk halfway down the map in the blazing sun with only few packs of beef jerky and some water. Annie slipped her glasses on, and Charlie nearly groaned when the sunlight bounced off their glossy neon surface and hit her directly in the eye. Well, there was no denying that Annie was still a city girl-

Seeing Charlie's wince, Annie had glanced over at her in concern. After another moment, Annie'd removed her glasses and was sorting through her small backpack. Finding what she needed, she pulled out her half-full canteen, uncapped it, and drizzled a little water onto the dirt at her feet. Then, before Charlie could even blink, Annie was squatting down, pawing the new mud with her fingertips. When she'd finished, she was back up again, taking her glasses in one hand, with wet mud in the other. Without so much as a moment's hesitation, she began smearing the mud over the bright pink surface, muting the color into something far less conspicuous.

Charlie smiled proudly.

-_But a damn smart city girl at that._

"Come on. We've gotta go." Without another word, Charlie headed South.

Annie just smiled at her best friend.

"Just do me one favor, Charlie." Charlie rolled her eyes, but couldn't keep from smiling back.

"Fine. What is it?"

"Just lay off the booze for a little while 'till John Boy gets here, OK? I think we'll both be needing you at your best for the time being."

"Jon Boy? Really, Annie?" Charlie didn't even try to keep the disgust out of her voice. But Annie just smirked at her, her bright eyes happy.

"What, I grew up watching The Waltons!"

"Yeah, well remind me to never take your advice on baby names, OK?"

Annie sighed dramatically, her green eyes full of mischief.

"Everybody's a critic," Annie muttered, kicking the dirt as they both picked up the pace

"And for your information Annie, I happen to do some of my best work while I'm drunk."


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you so much to all you who've followed/favorite my story! It really means a lot to me. And a special thanks to Ryansdreammaker and Iceonfire for their continued help and reviews. Anyway, now the story's really going to get rolling, so hold on to your hats, and I hope you enjoy the ride…**

**Oh, and after you're done reading, pretty, pretty, PRETTY please, if you like what I do, check out the new poll on my profile. This is just the first one I plan on doing, and if attendance is good, I'd like to use polls to give all you loyal readers the chance to have a say in what happens in Run Away, Baby… Intrigued? Well, good. So check it out, cast your vote, and then get ready to take the wheel because with all of us working together, there are no limits to where this story could go!**

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"Dammit! Where the _Hell_-" From where she was sitting by the fire, Annie had a front row seat to watch her sleep-deprived friend stumble through camp in search of her left boot. Charlie hadn't realized it was missing until after she'd laced up the first one, so now there she was, all blonde, fire, and brimstone, hopping through camp on uneven feet, trying in vain to find her lost boot. Annie bit down hard on her lip, but couldn't quite hold back the smile that was creeping up on her face. Charlie was on a warpath, and if she saw Annie smiling, she might very well skin her alive.

"-is my boot?!" By this point, Charlie had circled their entire camp at least eight times, and her muttered curses were gaining volume.

"Son of a- Annie have you seen it?"

"No Charlie, not since the last time you asked me. Three minutes ago." Charlie growled under her breath and fixed Annie with a hostile glare before returning to her search. Honestly, Annie had no idea where the boot was. And she'd never known Charlie to lose _anything_, so who the Hell knew? The thing could be anywhere.

Hey, if Annie thought it would help matters, she'd gladly get up and scour the campsite alongside Charlie. But the two of them had a much bigger problem than some lost boot.

Charlie hadn't had coffee in _days. _

Seven, actually –Annie had counted. And for those seven days, she'd been living in a veritable war zone, just waiting for the next missile to blow up in her face.

She wouldn't say that Charlie was a coffee addict – not to her face anyway – but Charlie had certainly become quite "attached" to a certain hot, brown, caffeinated beverage, which shall remain nameless, over the past six months. Annie honestly couldn't remember a morning in the whole of their relatively short acquaintance when Charlie hadn't been on a caffeine high from her daily coffee-time with Monroe.

This was all Monroe's fault.

Apparently, ruining the lives of millions wasn't enough for him. Oh, no. He had to personally make Annie's life Hell too. Thanks to that little piece of crap, Annie was now on the road, with only a limited supply of coffee – which she'd planned on saving until Charlie got _really _bad – and a caffeine-starved blonde who happened to be really good at killing people.

_Screw that plan. Charlie needs coffee now, _Annie thought suddenly. Her mind made up, she quickly pulled out her canteen and sloshed some water into one of the two tin cans they'd brought with them. Setting it up on their makeshift spit, Annie poked and prodded the fire, hoping to encourage a bigger flame. The quicker the water was boiled, the quicker she could make the coffee, and the quicker she could maybe get Charlie to calm the Hell down.

_Geez,_ for the past few days you'd have thought there was something seriously wrong with Charlie. She'd been biting her nails – Charlie never used to bite her nails. She'd been telling jokes – weird for her – and not very good ones at that. She'd been _humming _songs that Annie'd never heard before, and when she'd asked what they were, Charlie had gotten a strange look in her eyes and had stopped humming, and then she wouldn't say anything for at least an hour. Then she'd just start humming again. She'd been, overall, as wound up as Annie had ever seen her. And now she'd lost her one of her favorite freaking boots!

Needless to say, things were a little tense.

Watching her friend circle around the fire once more, her fiery gaze sweeping side to side, Annie made a point to avoid all eye contact.

If she hadn't brought any coffee at all, well… Annie might as well have just shot herself then and there. They wouldn't have a prayer of making it _anywhere_ with Charlie so on edge.

But like any good soldier, Annie was prepared. As she listened to her friend's angry stomping through their camp, Annie calmly kept trying to boil water over the small fire Charlie had laid that morning. When the water was finally hot enough, she removed the water-filled tin can from the heat, using the edge of her green flannel shirt as an oven mitt. Glancing over her shoulder, Annie found that Charlie seemed to have given up on her boot and was now just standing with her arms crossed and head down, deep in thought.

_That's definitely not a good sign._ Annie quickly pulled out the small tin of ground coffee she'd thought to bring with them when they'd left Chicago. After dumping about a teaspoon of the fine black powder into the tin of hot water, Annie gave the mixture a quick stir with her index finger.

_That's how you make it, right? _Annie shrugged to herself. _ Who the Hell knows? _

When she was finally finished, Annie had before her a steaming cup of something that may or may not have been coffee. It was the right dark brown color, but the consistency, which was something close to muddy sludge, was a bit concerning. _Oh well. It's better than nothing._

Well, she wasn't much of a cook, but at least she could boil water. Smirking, Annie covertly rolled her eyes at the blonde behind her, who had grown sullenly quiet. _Thank God. _And with the coffee finally ready, and she had to do now was get Charlie to drink it. _Time to rally the troops._

"Charlie, stop sulking and get your butt over here." Annie crossed her fingers, fervently hoping that she wasn't about to get tackled by a pissed-off Charlie. Thankfully, Annie was allowed to remain in one peace and on her perch beside the fire. Instead, the slightly younger girl circled back around toward Annie, suspicious scowl in place.

"What's so damn important?" Holding up the can as a peace offering, Annie just volunteered a simple "Coffee" by way of explanation. Charlie just stared at Annie for a moment, and then turned her attention toward the extended cup of steaming, black liquid. Her expression narrowed, but her pupils, Annie noticed, had grown dilated.

"You brought_ coffee_? Seriously, Annie? What, did you think we were going to host a dinner party while we were on the road?" Charlie's sarcasm, although seemingly genuine, lacked it's signature disdain, which only someone well acquainted with her would understand enough to realize it was absent from her voice at the moment.

Annie smiled, and gently rolled her eyes, not minding if Charlie saw. _I swear, if Charlie isn't the most stubborn person I've ever met-_

In all honesty, Annie was fairly sure that even if Charlie actually admitted to being a little grumpy lately, she'd probably rather blame it on her pregnancy than her dependence on coffee, which Charlie had always seemed to regard as a personal character flaw.

And was it any wonder?

As strong and independent a person as Charlie was, Annie knew she didn't like the thought of anything having an undue amount of control over her life. But all anyone had to do was set a cup of coffee in front of her and she was a goner.

Annie decided that the quickest way to get Charlie back to normal was to call her bluff.

"Fine." Squinting a bit against the bright morning sun, Annie pulled her hand back. "If you don't want it, then I'll drink it." Charlie's eyes widened a fraction – apparently she hadn't been expecting Annie to give up on her so quickly. Still, she didn't say anything. Annie lifted the can to her lips, prepared to take a dink if absolutely necessary. Honestly, she hated the stuff. But if that's what it took to get Charlie back into fighting shape, then it was more than worth it. However, one more try before drinking that awful stuff couldn't hurt…

Annie paused, the hand holding the coffee poised just below her mouth. Smirking, Annie switched tactics.

"I forgot. I absolutely hate coffee." She sighed heavily, infusing the sound with a good dose of proper annoyance over spending so much time making coffee that, _apparently_, no one was going to drink. Charlie remained motionless, her eyes wide and glued to the cup in Annie's hand.

"Sooooo…" Letting her voice hang there for a moment, Annie began to slowly tilt the can to the side, allowing the coffee inside to get closer and closer to the container's rim. "If neither of us wants it-" She jerked her hand a fraction, causing a few drops of coffee to fly out. Charlie made some sort of choking noise, her whole face twisted with regret as she stared down at the cluster of dark spots staining the ground at her feet. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out - she looked positively traumatized. For a split second, Annie considered ending their little Mexican standoff and just forcing Charlie to take the damn coffee-

Charlie's mouth twitched.

Annie's attention was immediately back on her friend. To be fair, Charlie _had _been through a lot lately. First with her husband, then with the pregnancy, and now she apparently had to walk across the country in order to save millions of people she'd never even met… and all without coffee. _Maybe I shouldn't give her such a hard time,_ Annie realized, with a twinge of regret. After all, no one should have everything going against them; sometimes you just need one good thing in your life, and if Charlie's good thing was coffee, who was Annie to-

Charlie's bright smile broke through Annie's thoughts like a sunbeam through a foggy haze. Surprised to see her friend looking less than murderous or despondent, both of which seemed reasonable enough responses to Annie in light of recent events, Annie's brow wrinkled in confusion. Charlie saw her and laughed lightly. Moving toward Annie, Charlie held out her hand expectantly. When Annie still looked dazed, Charlie rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

"Well, are you going to let me have the coffee or not?" Her playful tone, followed by a rather conspiratorial wink finally pulled Annie's disjointed thoughts back together.

"You're such a jerk, Charlie! I swear," Annie's rant seemed to flow naturally, with a force all it's own. "What the Hell?!" But Charlie just laughed again. Annie growled accusingly at her in response. "You know, I was actually worried about your sorry ass, but now, _apparently_, you are completely and utterly _fine!_" Blue eyes bright, Charlie just shrugged and opened her hand even wider, obviously waiting for Annie to hand her the coffee. Against her better judgment, Annie finally gave it to her, hoping it was ice cold by the time Charlie actually drank it. Small smile still on her lips, Charlie took a huge drink and – nearly threw up spitting it out so fast.

"Gaa, Annie! What the Hell did you put in here?" Charlie's voice was barely a croak before she descended into a coughing fit. Torn between feeling offended and vindicated, Annie settled on the latter, allowing a smug smile to school her features. Gagging, Charlie barely saw it through the watery film that had quickly formed over her eyes.

When she could finally speak again, Charlie slowly straightened back up, wiping the last traces of coffee from her lips with the palm of her hand. Then, Charlie met Annie's gaze with a small but cautious smile.

"Alright, I guess I deserved that. But to be fair, you started it."

"_I _started it?! Well, look who's talking, Miss PMS. I swear Charlie; I thought I was going to have to go find Dr. Phil, or something. You haven't been yourself the last few days and it's really starting to freak me out!" Charlie had sobered somewhat during Annie's little speech, and her expression now was a cross between regret and embarrassment.

"I know, Annie. And I'm sorry. Really, I'm just… trying to think through a couple things." They both paused, each hoping the other would understand. Finally, Annie sighed.

"I'm just worried about you, kid." Even though Annie was only about two years older than Charlie, she'd taken to calling her that from time to time. Because for all of Charlie's knowledge and skill, she still had so much left to learn… Kids that were forced to grow up too fast usually felt like they had the weight of the world crushing down onto their small shoulders. And they always felt like it was theirs alone to carry.

Annie didn't want Charlie to feel alone. And she sure as Hell didn't want Charlie to feel responsible for everyone and everything else around her. Because she sure as shit wasn't.

Charlie deserved to have someone look out for _her_ for a change. And since Bass had failed so miserably, it was up to Annie now – as poor a job as she might be doing of it.

Annie rolled her shoulders, trying to work a kink out of her neck, and looked over at her friend. Charlie had returned to staring down at the ground, small smile curling her lips, shuffling the loose dirt around with the tip of her left boot… _Wait-_

* * *

Bass could feel his left eye begin to twitch. He better damn well have heard his first in command wrong – otherwise there would be Hell to pay.

"Say that again."

Alex Hamilton might as well have been staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. He would've rather been _anywhere _else in the world at that moment, but instead, there he was, forced to tell Monroe the truth.

The chances of him getting out alive after this were slim to none.

Probably none.

"I apologize, sir." He took a deep breath of the cool morning air – maybe his last – and pressed on.

"It appears that we don't have any coffee."

Sebastian Monroe simply stared at him, blue eyes blazing.

"Do you mean to tell me, that out of all the well-trained, well-prepared, _hand-selected_ men in this company, not a single one of them thought to bring coffee?"

"Yes, sir." The president's jaw clenched so hard, Alex thought distantly, that it was a wonder it didn't break. Praying Monroe would let him finish the next sentence before blowing his head off, Alex hurried on.

"I have, however, sent one of our best riders back to the nearest town to obtain some more, uh… supplies. He should be able to catch up with us in a day or two." _Coffee in hand,_ Alex added mentally. Although Monroe's annoyance may've briefly clouded his judgment, Alex knew very well that if there was one thing Monroe hated, it was appearing weak in front of his men. And his sudden, obsessive need for something as unimportant as _coffee_ – well let's just say it didn't inspire any extra confidence in the man.

While Monroe's expression remained stony, Alex could see in his eyes that he was at least considering letting him live.

"Sir, if I may…" Alex lowered his voice and tried to ignore the cold bead of sweat he felt sliding down his spine. He took a step closer to the president. "With all due respect, I don't think that this is really the time to stop for a coffee break." Well, there it was. It sounded far less respectful than it should, but honestly, Alex couldn't seem to get through to him with just "respectful" lately.

Monroe examined him, one imperious brow cocked. Gradually, a calculating smile crept onto the president's face.

"Maybe you're right, Major." He glanced around, looking many of the gathered men in the eye. "Maybe what we all need is some whiskey instead." Monroe looked back at Hamilton, cold murder in his eyes. Suddenly, Hamilton's stomach felt like it was made of lead; he waited in near-frantic silence for Monroe to royally screw him over. The older man saw his fear. Saw it, and smiled. "Good idea, Hamilton." Monroe gestured grandly in the direction of the supplies tent, his forthright expression enough to make Hamilton's skin crawl with dread. "Why don't you go and get some for us." At his words, a rustle of excitement swept through the camp – the men jerked to attention, rifles gripped tightly in hands, eyes trained hopefully on Alex.

_Dammit._

Well, there it was. The bullet in Fate's gun that would finally kill Alexander Hamilton. And despite everything, Alex was fighting a smile.

_Monroe. That sly son of a bitch._

The damn bastard knew they only had a few bottles of alcohol with them. Shit, he'd expressly _told _Alex to save those for the officers. And now he was setting Alex up to take the damn fall for it.

_Thanks a lot, you arrogant piece of-_

"I'm sorry, General, but we don't have any with us."

The backlash was instant, albeit subtle. Soldiers shifted their weight, some of their hands traveling involuntarily to the triggers of their loaded guns. Monroe's brows were raised in an expression of cynical surprise.

"Is that so, Major? Well, then maybe you could get the men some coffee at least." Alex's eyes widened in exasperation, his jaw clenching hard against the words he really shouldn't say. Monroe's look changed to one of dawning understanding.

"Oh, I see." Monroe's face twisted in thought for a moment. "Well…" He looked back at Alex. "In the future, maybe you should think more carefully when packing to feed an army." Monroe stared straight into Alex's eyes for a moment, daring him to challenge it, before smirking slightly, turning his back and striding away, surrounded by the respectful murmuring of the men.

Although he'd never admit it, a grudging respect for Monroe began to grow within Alex. He had style, Alex would give him that. Pitting his men against each other, setting _Alex _up as public enemy number one… It was ingenious. Maybe more than that if Monroe had even the smallest suspicion of Alex's plans to steal his throne. And if not, the man's timing was at the very least impeccable: Now Alex was the outsider, and Monroe the men's hero.

It would make it that much harder to overthrow the president.

And in a way, Alex wished he didn't have to. Having Monroe on his side would be a great advantage – when the man wasn't completely off his meds, that is.

Yes, Alex admired Monroe's skill. What could he say, it was damn impressive. Alexander Hamilton wasn't the type of person to ignore reality.

But… Monroe _had_ just tried to get him killed. And Alex also wasn't the type of person to let that go.

* * *

"Hey, you have two boots on!" Not Annie's most astute observation ever, but she'd had a long morning, OK? But Charlie, being Charlie, was going to take full advantage of it anyway.

"Wow, Annie, I'm so glad you can count," Charlie commented dryly. "It's really impressive."

"Haha, very funny." Despite her words, Annie did not look amused. "OK, joke's over. Seriously, Charlie, I mean it! I am so done with this."

Charlie just chuckled.

"I just wanted to see how long it would take you to dip into your 'secret' coffee stash." Annie just stared at her, uncomprehending. Seeing that she still hadn't quite put two and two together yet, Charlie smirked and went on. "You know it really didn't take very long."

"So you just did all that to _mess with me?"_

"Not _just_ to mess with you." Charlie shrugged slightly, but her eyes were somewhat contrite. "I also wanted some coffee."

Recognizing the peace offering for what it was, Annie considered her for a moment.

"Well, if there was ever proof that you're an addict, this would be it."

Charlie's smirk was as genuine as it was mischievous.

"Yeah, well, don't tell too many people about it, Annie. Don't want word getting around that I have a weakness."

"You?" Annie rolled her eyes. "Who'd believe it?" She chuckled to herself and turned to stamp out the fire, not noticing the shadow that had fallen across her friend's face.

* * *

The two of them had packed up the camp and were on the road again. Annie was rambling on and on about something – a pair of purple stilettos she'd once owned, maybe?

Unfortunately, despite what was sure to be a fascinating story, Charlie wasn't really listening. Sure, she'd smile and nod every once in a while, give her friend the go-ahead she needed, and then Annie would just pick up right where she left off.

Charlie almost envied her, the way Annie could forget about the trouble and pain, even for a little while; focus on something better.

Charlie'd never had that gift.

They'd been moving south for the past week; a straight shot from Chicago to Texas, by way of the Plains Nation. And if they stuck to this pace, they'd be across the Republic's borders in two or three days.

Although she'd never admit it to Annie, Charlie wasn't any happier about setting foot in the Plains Nation again than she was. Between those New Vegas pimps, the scattered remains of the Patriot army, Duncan's surviving men, and the people she'd met during her self-guided cross-country tour, there were far too many people who could recognize her – people who wouldn't think twice about turning her in to Monroe. And others who'd be all too happy to kill her.

She wasn't sure if Monroe had put a bounty on her head yet, but it was only a matter of time. As soon as he got desperate, every bounty hunter on the East coast would be looking for her.

Charlie cast a furtive glance at the girl chattering on happily beside her. She honestly wasn't sure what Monroe would do about Annie. Would her name be listed on the warrants along with Charlie's?

Charlotte Matheson Monroe

Wanted Alive

Reward: 20 oz. diamonds

Knowing Bass, the reward would probably be something that outrageous. Something no hunter could turn down.

Charlie cursed under her breath.

_God, the whole continent will be looking for me inside of a week._

_And Annie…_

Annie Hamilton

Wanted Dead or Alive

For Crimes Against the New Republic

Charlie was shaking her head before the image even faded from her mind.

_Bass is not going to hurt her._

A gnawing pain clawed at her chest.

_He's not._ _He wouldn't. Not after Danny._

Charlie's mind immediately shied away from that thought, even as the truth of it seared into her mind and made her wish she'd never heard of the Monroe Republic. And judging from what she knew of them, the citizens of the Plains Nation felt exactly the same way.

But that was one of the few good things about the Plains Nation: As many people as would want the crap-ton of diamonds Monroe was offering for her safe return, there were still plenty of people who hated Monroe more than they hated being poor. So maybe they weren't totally screwed.

At that moment, Charlie felt a small flutter in her lower abdomen. Immediately, she jerked to a stop, her hands flying upward toward her stomach. Annie stopped too and glanced at her in concern. Ignoring her for the moment, Charlie waited, but nothing else happened. No more movement, nothing. Hesitantly, Charlie lowered her hands to the hem of her shirt and slowly drew it upward until half of her pale stomach was exposed. What had once been a flat stretch of smooth skin was now slightly rounded and flushed with pale pink. No unsuspecting stranger would recognize her condition, nor anyone who knew her either, probably. It was too early for that.

_Thank God._ But then, Charlie grimaced.

But if they didn't get to Miles soon, she'd turn into a sick, waddling ball of emotions that'd be no use to anyone. Especially not to the baby.

Charlie started forward with a renewed sense of urgency. Annie trailed behind her, trying to catch up, calling after her to see what was wrong. But Charlie simply kept moving forward, her only goal now to make it to Miles' before she could no longer see her feet.

They had to move fast – while Charlie still could.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! And a special thanks to Iceonfire, Ryansdreammaker, and the Guest who reviewed my last chapter. You guys really helped me push through and get this chapter posted much sooner than I envisioned.**

* * *

Bass woke up to the sound of his own neck snapping. Eyes flying open, he jerked awake and jumped to his feet only to see… his lifeless body lying on the ground at his feet.

_What the Hell?_

Bass looked down. He was still dressed in the same clothes he'd fallen asleep in that evening. The same clothes that the body in front of his was wearing.

Monroe frowned in confusion. Hesitantly, he took a step forward.

There was a body in his tent.

A. Body.

And it looked a Hell of a lot like him.

Bass shook his head, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. He needed to call Forbes; find out what the Hell was going on…

But something deep inside his head told him that even Forbes wouldn't have that answer.

And then he saw it – another figure, kneeling over his body, steady hands still wrapped around the body's throat. The man – it looked like a man – gradually pulled back. The whites of his familiar brown eyes gleamed with reflected light, and the flash of his teeth as he let out an unsteady chuckle were enough to send a shiver of dread down even Bass's spine.

In a daze, Bass stood by and watched as his murderer reached out to touch the body's still, twisted neck with two fingers – checking for a pulse. For a moment, Bass thought he could feel the icy fingers on the side of his own neck, probing for life-

Bass jerked away from the phantom touch, his mind snapping back into focus. He didn't have time to stand around waiting for it all to make sense. He needed answers.

Cautiously, Bass approached the man, taking care to stay in tent's many shadows. But strangely, the man didn't seem to notice him. He was too busy staring down at his victim, who, as Bass got closer, began to look more and more like the man Bass always saw in the mirror. But lifeless. And pale – like he'd never even been alive to begin with.

As Bass stared down at his own corpse, he could feel his heart rate begin to spike.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

But before that really sank in, a deep, dark chuckle snagged Bass's attention. Looking back towards the murderer, Bass suddenly felt a sick sense of recognition in the pit of his stomach.

The man had the same familiar slicked-back hair, sharp brown eyes, and sarcastic half-smile. Only just now, that smile looked a bit twisted.

Alex_._

Monroe watched in shock as his second-in-command rose up, dusted off his spotless pants, and turned to leave.

"_Alex?" _Monroe's voice was saturated in disbelief.

The major paused for a moment, turning his dark head to look back at the body on the ground. And then, with a slow smile, he left, the tent flap fluttering shut behind him.

Eyes wide, Bass looked back down at his own body lying on the flood. None of it made any sense… And Alex?

Unless…

"Am I – dead?" Bass's voice wasn't even loud enough to be called a whisper. It was the barest exhale of breath, carrying with it a deadly certainty that seeing truly _was_ believing. And believing made it real.

"Well, wouldn't that be a nice surprise?"

Bass jerked around, nearly losing his balance in the process. And then his heart really did stop beating in his chest.

"Miles…" Standing at the other end on the tent, his brother looked fit to kill. His brown eyes were glowing with something violent, and his hands were fisted at his sides.

"It's been a while, Bass." Miles shook his head slowly, his serious, dark eyes trained on Monroe's face.

"Miles…" Bass stopped, unable to continue. There was his best friend, standing right in front of him for the first time in almost a year, and he just… didn't know what to say. But Miles sure as Hell did.

"Yeah, I'd say it's good to see you too, Bass, but the trouble is-" Miles smiled that smile, the one that had the odd effect of sending men to an early grave, "-I really want to rip your throat out." His smile widened, making his teeth glow bright in the darkened tent.

"You wouldn't… Why- why would you say that, Miles?" Bass's eyes were wide, his expression one of shock and disbelief. Miles wouldn't say that. Even at their worst, Miles hadn't been able to kill him. Even after everything, they were still brothers.

Miles simply shook his head like he couldn't help but feel sorry for Monroe for not understanding something so obvious.

"Yeah, Bass, why the Hell would I want to kill you?" Voice dripping with sarcasm, Miles continued, driving the existing pain even deeper into Monroe's chest. "Oh, I don't know, maybe for killing my brother." Miles took a step toward him, his twin swords flashing dangerously from his belt. "My real one Bass – not like the kind you claimed to be." Pain like a grenade blew though Bass, making his bones rattle and his heart bleed red. Miles' face twisted into a grimace. "Or maybe for what you did to Rachel." He choked out a shallow laugh. "God, knows I want to kill you for that."

Unable to stand against the sudden weight that seemed to be pressing down on him from all sides, Bass sank to his knees, chest heaving with the simple task of remaining upright – he had to. He had to face this. He owed Miles that much.

"You really can't _imagine_ why I'd want to kill you?" Miles seemed equally surprised and furious. "Could it be for Nora, Bass? For _Danny?_" Miles paused, seeming to forcibly restrain himself before continuing.

"For Charlie?" His voice was quiet, but Bass felt the two words like a double-tap to the heart. Suddenly, he found that he couldn't breathe anymore.

He watched his best friend stalk forward, his movements as familiar to Bass as his own.

"Did you know," Miles continued, his eyes glinting hard, "for the longest time, I would wake up in the middle of the night, with a gun in my hand. And do you know the first thing that came into my head? I would think 'Thank God, it was all just a dream. I didn't throw away my chance to kill Bass, and save my family.' And then I'd get up out of bed and go looking for you." Bass forced himself to meet his friend's eyes. "To kill you, Bass." Miles shook his head, and his eyes narrowed. "But then I would realize that I wasn't _in_ _Philly_. That I'd _missed _my opportunity. You'd been right there in front of me, and for some damn reason I couldn't pull the trigger!"

In an instant, Miles had drawn his swords and crossed them at Monroe's throat, ready to slice open his neck at any time.

"I've forgiven so much, Bass. I let so much of the crap you've done go. I did that because I thought we could be a family again. Me, and Charlie, and Rachel. But then you-" The swords closed even tighter around Monroe's throat. He couldn't even take a breath any longer without risking decapitation. "

"You took my little girl away from me, you sick _bastard._" The swords trembled beneath Bass's chin. If he hadn't been watching Miles so closely – waiting for him to finally follow through on all the years of empty threats – he might have missed it. But he didn't. Two crystal tears leaking from the corner of Mile's eye, sliding down until they dangled off his jaw. Bass watched them for a moment, transfixed.

Miles hadn't cried in years.

"And now," Miles' voice was strangely shallow, like he couldn't take a real breath anymore, "you can't even keep your promise."

Bass's eyes snapped back to Miles', his throat constricting despite all the things he wished he could say in his defense. He knew what Miles was going to say next. But knowing wasn't the same as hearing.

"You promised you'd do _whatever it took_ to keep her safe Bass." Miles' normally steady voice caught. His thunder-grey eyebrows drew together sharply, eyes never leaving Bass. "You promised me that!"

"Miles-" The swords bit sharply into his neck, making him gasp in pain. Through the tears, he looked up at his friend in a silent plea. After a long moment, the blades relaxed an inch, and Bass could breath again.

Miles' lip curled in disgust.

"What could you possibly say to me, Bass?" Miles' face scrunched into a pained sneer. "My niece is out there, somewhere-" Miles pulled one sword back, pointing it toward the tent's opening, fatherly outrage in his eyes. "Alone. Running from _you._"

But Bass was already shaking his violently back and forth.

"She's not-"

"The Hell she's not, Bass!" Miles' voice was an unearthly shout, filled with fatherly dismay. "Damn it, Bass! You told - _promised her -_ you'd never become the old you again, Bass." He sneered down at his oldest friend. " And here you are." Shaking his head, Miles sighed as his shoulders slumped in defeat, the fight visibly draining out of him. "Who the Hell can she trust if she can't trust you?"

"She can trust me," Bass shouted over him, his fists clenching and unclenching in rhythm with his throbbing temples. "She can! Everything I've done was to protect her, Miles!" His palms were slick with sweat. Every single action he'd taken in the last twelve months flew before his eyes like a flock of wild birds, impossible to keep track of them all. Groaning, he sank back on is heels, gripping his head with one hand and shielding his eyes with another. The pounding inside his skull was becoming nearly unbearable.

"I… promise," he panted, his forehead dripping sweat. "I did… everything for… _her._" He squinted against the raw light that had suddenly just appeared inside his tent.

"Everything, Miles! I _had_ to keep her safe, don't you understand? I had to do it!" Bass's voice broke off in a sob, his heart breaking. "You have to believe me, Miles. I just… I couldn't lose her too."

As he sat there, crying for the first time since… since Emma's death, he slowly began to realize how much light had filled the tent.

_When did that… _The light got brighter, brighter until he couldn't see anything but white. A droning, buzzing noise seemed to stick to the base of his skull, pounding it's way through his head and echoing back on itself, slowly building until it was all he heard. Until he couldn't even hear himself screaming.

And then it all stopped.

The light, the noise - suddenly it was all just… gone.

When Bass finally reopened his eyes, he flinched away from the total darkness. But as the minutes passed in silence, and his surroundings slowly become visible as his eyes readjusted, Bass realized that he was the only one in the tent. Miles had disappeared. The body on the floor was gone, and Alex was nowhere in sight. Letting out a short sigh of relief, Bass slumped to the floor, completely exhausted.

Closing his eyes, he reveled in the silence. He hadn't enjoyed the simple pleasure of a quiet moment in what seemed like a lifetime. There was always some order to give, some duty to perform. Some guilty piece of his conscience to ignore.

But now there was nothing. And Bass could even remember that this was what he'd once called _peace._

"Bass."

Monroe's eyes flew open.

He knew that voice, knew it anywhere.

Making sure to move slowly, so that there was no chance of frightening her, Bass sat up and turned towards the voice, his heart very near to tearing itself from his chest.

"Charlie."


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hey guys! Sorry this update was so long in the making – life is crazy at the moment, but I promise the next chapter will be up soon. I hope Ch 9 was worth the wait. And if you guys have time, please check out the new poll on my profile and vote to let me know which long-lost character you'd like to see make a guest appearance in Run Away.**

**And stay tuned next time to find out what's happening with Charlie and Annie as they try to cross the border into the Plains Nation, and to see what Rachel and Miles have been up to all this time…**

* * *

"Charlie," he breathed, the mist of tears almost immediately clouding his eyes as the sound of her name washed over him. He blinked them away at once, not wanting to lose sight of her for even a second.

She was standing right beside him, no more than five feet away, a gentle glow highlighting her features and turning her honey-gold hair to sunlight. Wearing only a thin, pale blue cotton dress, with her hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders and back, she looked…

_So. Beautiful._

Bass could scarcely draw a breath, much less stand. Instead, he lurched frantically to his hands and knees, almost crawling in his desperation to reach her.

His palms scraped against the ground beneath him, and his scarred back immediately protested the abuse.

It was so strange. At times, he could still feel the lash of the whip searing his skin. And at others, he didn't even remember the red stripes of puckered skin crisscrossing his back.

There really was no in-between.

One stripe in particular – the first one he'd received – plagued him more often than the rest. It didn't matter what he was doing. Sleeping, eating, crawling on his hands and knees toward his wife – they were all the same. When the pain hit, it was always equally unbearable.

Although it could've taken no more than a few seconds until he was kneeling at her feet, he felt as though he'd been stumbling along for ages, through the world's blackest mud and filth, until he finally reached her.

And those short moments were all it took to turn the slightest pain in his back into agony.

He collapsed to the ground just a few inches away from her, his back on fire, and his thoughts black with pain. He heard her call out to him once, and then he couldn't hear anything else over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

It occurred to him in some dark corner of his mind that this must be what Hell felt like. He'd always figured he'd find out for sure someday, but he hadn't counted on it being before he finally died. But as the pain knifing through his back spiked again, he knew exactly what Hell was. A black hole of pain and suffering – lit on fire just for the Hell of it.

Even half-delirious, Bass couldn't help but chuckle darkly at that. Although, it sounded more like he was choking.

As he lay there on the ground, unable to think or speak, a noise like soft breeze blew over him, somehow managing to cool his fevered skin. It was only just there – the subtlest hint of a sound. His skin seemed to tighten and his back twitched with pain, but he held fast to it. Held on until the agony subsided.

Hours seemed to pass; empires to rise and fall. And all he could do was lay there, helpless and alone.

When the pain had finally run its course, he didn't move. Even if he'd wanted to, he just couldn't. Utterly exhausted and drenched in his own sweat, he tried to remember where he was.

Darkness billowed on the edges of his vision. There was nothing to see. Only a small sound.

The noise that had been his lifeline was still humming through the air, just beside him. Just out of his reach.

But it was still nothing like the deafening sound he'd heard earlier.

Earlier.

Bass' mind whirred into action as bits and pieces of the dream twisted through his thoughts.

_I'm in a tent. My tent._ Bass's eyes widened a fraction as both panic and memory flooded in. _There's something else. The light, the noise… Miles disappeared. I woke up and-_

Charlie.

Air hissed in between his teeth, and his fingers clawed at the dirt beneath him

Charlie was there. _There. _Charlie was there. Charlie was there, Charlie was there.

_Charlie's here._

"Charlie?" He barely choked it out. Just a single little word, that's all he could manage. But it was- it had to be enough.

"Shhh…" The sound rushed through him in a heartbeat, travelling to every corner of his body, filling him with new life.

And then the voice was accompanied by a light touch – it was the barest brush of fingertips against his shaking back, but it was enough to tell him everything he needed know.

With a start, Bass realized that he was no longer wearing a shirt.

He tried to say something else, but all that came out was a sluggish groan. Frustrated, he tried again, this time barely managing to make a sound at all before the gentle fingers were resting on his lips, holding them still.

"It's all right, Bass." The voice was cool, and clear, and painfully familiar. Monroe tried to move again, pushing with shaking hands against the hard ground beneath him. But the fingers were there too – brushing against the backs of his hands until he gave in and turned them so that they lay palm up.

"I'm right here, baby." The fingertips continued to lightly stroke the palms of his hands. "You're safe."

If it had been anyone else, Bass would've scoffed; said something about the President of the Monroe Republic not needing such petty reassurances. But when _she_ said that – when it was _her _voice breaking through all the memories, and noises, and irrational fears that had haunted him for so long – he actually kind of believed it.

So he stayed there like that for what felt like hours – the president, lying flat on his stomach, on the floor of his tent, letting her trace the scars until his eyes began to drift shut. At some point, he felt a slight stirring of air over his left shoulder, but he didn't even try to look back.

Charlie was there. With him. And for a time, he really couldn't find it in himself to care about anything else. He was happy just to have her near.

_Even though…_

Bass's shoulders jerked forward, his hands curling naturally into fists. The soft hands, fingers now wound through his dirt-and-sand curls, froze.

It was all still so confusing.

But: She wasn't supposed to be there. He knew it somehow, deep down, even if couldn't remember exactly _why._

For whatever reason, Charlie _couldn't_ be there.

"Bass?" The gentle whisper broke through to him, his ears still attuned for battle, even after the months of relative peace. When he didn't answer right away, he heard her breath catch. "What's wrong?"

He didn't wait any longer. Spinning suddenly, he caught her by the neck and pushed her down. The breath left her beautiful mouth in a painful gush as her back hit the ground, hard. Blue eyes huge, she stared up at him in shock, her hands automatically lifting to fight him off- But then she dropped them. Her hands fell back to her sides and she didn't move another inch. Just stared up at him, the damned hurt staining her eyes.

"What the Hell, Bass?" Her voice at full volume was strained and rough and it made Bass flinch. But he leaned in closer, eyes raking over her features, making sure it was really her.

Her face – sweet lips, perfect nose, and brilliant eyes – all exactly as he remembered them. His heart began to slow. And then sped again.

"Charlie?"

The confusion seemed to melt from her eyes, returning them to their normal shade of blue.

"Yeah, Bass." She raised one hand tentatively to wrap around his wrist. Giving him a slight smile, she tugged on his fingers until they loosened from her shoulder. "It's me."

* * *

They hadn't moved for hours.

Laying on his bed with Charlie's head on his shoulder, just being there with her, was something Bass had worried he'd never have the chance to have again. But there they both were.

After she'd finally convinced him that it really was her, Charlie had thrown her arms around Bass' neck and pulled him down next to her; and even if he hadn't wanted her so badly it hurt, he would've never even stood a chance. They'd fallen back into each other's arms as soon as they laid eyes on each other.

Afterwards, neither of them spoke – of course there were questions; there always were, and things that needed to be said. But not now. Not when he'd just got her back.

Because Bass knew from personal experience that even the most perfect things – _especially_ those things – must always come to an end.

Charlie's sweet sigh fanned across his skin, leaving behind a pattern of goosebumps. After a moment, Bass frowned slightly before pulling her closer.

"Are you cold?" He could feel Charlie shiver in response, but she simply shrugged and buried her face in his neck.

Minutes passed, and then an hour. Stubborn as he was, Bass was barely managing to keep his eyes open. But something had kept him awake, poking at the back of his mind like a needle, refusing to let him fall asleep.

Something wasn't right, but he couldn't quite figure out what. Maybe he just didn't want to.

"Bass." The whisper broke his focus and brought a soft smile to his lips.

"Mhhm?" he murmured drowsily.

"What are you thinking?"

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't slept for more than an hour in past three days. Or maybe he just missed being honest with the one person he could really trust.

"That I don't understand why you left." His forehead creased in weary thought. "You- we had everything together. We made a _home_, Charlie." He took a deep breath, despising the way his voice threatened to break. "_Why-_

"You're asking me why?" As quickly as she'd come, Charlie slipped from his arms and shot to her feet. Monroe followed quickly behind, still in a daze.

"Really, Bass?" Her lip curled in disgust, and her eyes that had only moments ago been filled with familiar warmth and love now filling with old hate. And something more – for a split second, her eyes seemed to flash with white light despite the shadows. And then it was gone.

Utterly bewildered, Bass automatically reached toward her, his arms cold without her beside him. But she stepped back even farther out of his reach.

"You're incredible, you know that?" Her voice was dripping with disdain, her expression livid. "You really can't understand how any sane person would want to get the Hell away from you?"

The startling words – only surprising because it was her saying them – shocked him back into action. He grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides when she moved to hit him, trying not to hurt her when she jerked against his hold.

"Get the Hell off of me, Bass!" she spat out at him. But Monroe held fast.

"Charlie, what-" She threw herself to the side, trying to break his hold. Bass yanked her back, holding her firmly against him so she couldn't hurt herself.

"What the Hell, Charlotte?_" _Eyes narrowed, he stared down at her belligerent expression, wondering what sort of nightmare he'd woken into.

_No,_ Bass reminded himself firmly,_ not a nightmare. Charlie's here._

But something sure as Hell had happened. And he needed to know what.

"Charlie." She looked away from him. Her shook her once, hard. "_Charlie._" She turned her head to glare up at him. "What's going on?" He shook his head in confusion. "What's wrong?

"Wrong?" Her lips parted in shock, before curling into a incredulous sneer. "You want to know what's wrong?"

She shook her head, eyes flashing.

"Well let me fill you in here, _Bass." _She spat out his name like it was poison on her tongue. "People die around you. Have you noticed? Huh?" Her brows flew up in question. "Did you even care enough to notice? Because if you were even one tenth less self-absorbed then maybe you'd start to realize how no one seems to live long when they're near you-" Her voice had become a small, choked little thing, and by the end he was barely able to make it out. But the expression of revulsion in her eyes was clear enough.

Bass's stomach suddenly felt like it was made of lead. Something in her eyes – something he'd seen so many times in the mirror – made him want to crawl back into whatever sorry abyss he'd come from. But this was Charlie; so he had to try.

"Charlie, I-"

"No. You know what, just don't. Because-" She took a deep breath through her nose, her jaw working and her eyes on the floor. Finally, she met his gaze again.

Almost knowing what she was going to say before she even said it, Bass let her go and stumbled back a step, his legs hitting the edge of his bed and causing him to fall back.

But the view from there was no different. He still saw the only person he couldn't bear to lose standing in front of him, ready to tell him-

"You're poison, Bass." Her eyebrows drew together, but her expression was carefully vacant. And suddenly she looked so… so much like Rachel. "We don't have a future together." But then she shook her head, frowning.

"I don't have a future with _you_, Bass." Her laugh sounded hollow. Glancing away for a moment, Charlie drew in a shaky breath. And then another, but it sounded more like a sob.

"Ba-" She gasped, her body doubling over in an instant, and huddled on the floor in the next. With the grace of a tiger, Bass surged to his feet.

"Charlie!" No response, but he was already rushing toward her. "Dammit, what's wrong? What the Hell is this?"

As soon as he touched her she jerked back. Her eyes glinted with the same strange light as before, but this time Bass didn't even notice. Even with Bass hovering over her, Charlie struggled to stand, flinching back any time he made a move to help her

"No. No. Stay away from me!" Her earsplitting scream barely even registered in his mind. Nothing really did except the way Charlie was cradling her stomach with both small hands.

All the air left Monroe in a rush. He knew what it meant. Any man in love would.

For the second time that night, Monroe sank to his knees.

"Charlie?" She flinched, realizing he was much closer than she would've liked. Clearing his throat to relieve the sudden pressure, Bass reached carefully out toward her, palms open, fingers softly curled.

"Charlie. You-" He took a shaky breath. "-know I'd _never _do anything to hurt you."

He saw her shiver slightly, before her eyes flicked back up to meet his. She didn't say anything, but when he rested his fingertips gently on her barely rounded stomach she didn't pull away.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Relief flooded through him, as a tiny smile pulled at his lips.

"Charlie, are you…?" She was – it was obvious to him now, but the father in him needed to hear her say it.

After a long moment, she looked up at him, her eyes cast in shadows and sorrow, and nodded.

His breath rattled around in his chest, unsure of where to go, and he must've blinked twenty times in those few seconds as he tried to wrap his mind around it.

Only a small, warm hand pressing against his cheek could pull him out of it. His gaze met hers instantly, even if it took him a moment to see her through the haze of tears clouding his vision. And when he saw her, her smile was sad.

"I came to say goodbye, Bass. For good."

He blinked.

"No…" Heart barely beating, he stared at her in shock. "No, you can't-"

"Bass, I _have_ to." She looked away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her own eyes. She nodded, almost to herself. "I have to." Turning again, she looked him straight in the eye. "That's why I left. I have to keep him safe."

Bass could only stare at her in shock and whisper, "Him?"

Shaking her head self consciously, Charlie sighed.

"I mean the baby." Her expression clouded. "I have to get the baby away from here. Somewhere safe."

Seeing his window, Bass' quick mind could hardly keep up with words flowing out of his mouth. At this point, he'd say just about anything if it would convince her to stay.

"Charlie, why didn't you tell me? I can keep you both safe! Come back to Chicago with me. Please! We can start over, build a new house. I'll triple the guards! No one is going to hurt you, Charlie, I swear." The stream of words came to a halt. Bass looked frantically for even the smallest sign that she believed him.

"We can be a _family_ again, Charlie." He tilted his head, trying to read her expression. "I won't ever let anything happen to you or our child." He gripped her hands in his and squeezed them gently. "I promise."

After a few seconds, she squeezed back. For the first time that night, a sliver of hope pierced his heart.

"Bass…" Charlie faltered, her voice shaky at best. "I- believe you." She took a deep breath, but it all came back out in a rush. "But, there are things, things you can't control." She tried to take another deep breath, but this time she choked on the air. Pulling her hands away, she pressed a fist to her chest and she struggled to continue. "Georgia. Texas. The Plains. Any one of them could attack us in a second! You can't know when or where or how our enemies will attack, so how _could _you keep us safe?"

Suddenly she looked back up at him, tears running down her cheeks.

"I wish I didn't have to go, Bass." From the raw pain in her eyes, Monroe could tell that she meant it, but it was little consolation.

"Charlie, listen to me; I'll keep you safe! Please_, please_ trust me. There won't even be a Georgia for much longer-"

He cut himself off, but it was too late. Charlie's eyes widened in shock and then narrowed on him suspiciously.

"What?" When he didn't answer right away, Charlie shifted away from him, her wary eyes studying him in mute horror.

Cursing himself for a fool, Bass scrambled for the words to make her believe him. He watched as Charlie's expression went from appalled to livid.

"What the _Hell_ is that supposed to mean, Bass?" Her jaw clenched over and over again, her eyes promising violence if she didn't like his answer.

Ignoring the familiar stab of guilt, Bass squared his shoulders, and met her gaze.

"It was a-" He took a deep, bracing breath. "-necessary tactical decision for the security of the Republic." He knew she wouldn't let it go at that, but he still couldn't bring himself to come right out and say it. The expression of dawning horror on her face wouldn't let him.

"Oh- _God_." Cringing, Charlie's hands flew up to clutch at her head, like it might explode if she didn't hold it together. Her eyes, wide and terrified, stared up at him in shock. "You-" Her mouth snapped shut, her throat working. "You were going to go to war with Georgia?" When he didn't answer, she jerked away from him and struggled to her feet with him following close on her heels, ready to catch her if she fell. "_Damn you._ Damn you to Hell, Bass!"

She stumbled to one side and he immediately moved to catch her, but her fist slammed into his face before he got the chance.

"Don't touch me!" She staggered again, but caught herself against his wooden campaign desk. Too stunned to even rub his aching jaw, Bass just stared at her, his heart tearing into two hopeless pieces.

"We were supposed to be a team… You promised!" Her jaw clenched into iron, and she glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "You son of a bitch." She turned away, her shoulders slowly wilting. When she spoke again, her voice was as fragile as a winter leaf. "Dammit, I mean why the Hell did we even bring back the Republic, Bass?" She looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes sparking violently. "So you could wreck the world again?"

Anger and shame warred for control inside Monroe's chest, but he didn't say a word.

What would he say?

Minutes passed. Maybe hours – Bass couldn't tell. Not with Charlie's eyes on him, not with the disappointment in her gaze.

She was waiting for him to say something. No. She was _giving_ him the chance to explain it all away and make her believe in him again. But even as he looked into her familiar blue eyes, Bass couldn't see how anything had changed.

Georgia had to go. Georgia and all the other threats to his family.

Monroe's hand curled into a loose fist, his heart hardening with resolution.

Even if it meant taking on the whole continent until there was nothing left standing outside of his own borders, he wouldn't even blink – not if it meant that Charlie- that Charlie and the baby would be safe.

So he said nothing. He simply stared at her, forcing himself not to notice as an icy sheen of hate crept into her eyes.

"I was right to leave you," she said softly, disgust and disbelief coloring her voice. "More than I even knew."

Despite all his better judgment, Bass couldn't help the immense desire to prove her wrong.

"Charlie-"

_BANG_

A single gunshot tore through the tent, ripping holes in both sides. But not before ripping a hole through Charlie.

And then she was lying on the floor in front of him, her eyes wide and her chest shuddering from the impact. An eternity passed in moments as Bass stared down at her in shock, all his dreams and plans and hopes running red onto the dirt beneath his feet.

When gravity finally seemed to recover its hold on him, he crashed to the ground beside her, his only thought to be near her before...

"Oh God, Charlie! Somebody get in here!" His fingers burrowed beneath her head until it was cradled gently in his palm. Framing her face with his other hand, he noted with dismay that her eyes, even though looking in his direction, were startlingly vacant.

"Charlie, can you hear me?"

No response.

He gave her a small shake.

"Dammit, Charlotte, say something!"

But instead of responding, Charlie's eyes fluttered wearily and then closed.

"Charlie?" Her eyes didn't reopen. "Charlie!"

Struggling to control his rising panic, he turned his attention to the bullet wound. The dark red hole in the right side of her chest was neat and small. Only something equally small and controlled could've made it. A sniper's bullet, maybe.

Positioning his head over her heart, he heard the faint pulse of blood keeping her alive, but the way her breath gurgled when it came and went was evidence of a punctured lung.

Forcing years of training to override the emotions clawing desperately at his chest, Bass set her head down gently, and then leapt to his feet. There wasn't much in the tent – how could there be when they'd been moving so fast to try and find Charlie.

And in the end, it turned out that she'd found them…

That thought nearly stopped Bass in his tracks as he reached for the bed sheet laying rumpled on the floor nearby.

_How did she…?_

But before he could even finish the question, Charlie's sharp, rasping gasp brought him reeling back to the situation at hand. Cursing under his breath, Bass threw the sheet over his arm and raced to grab the kerosene lamp still burning softly on his desk, along with an old ball point pen laying beside it.

Once again kneeling beside her, he looked into her face, praying she'd managed to wake up on her own.

By some miracle, her eyes were wide and aware, but so full of pain Bass found it difficult to take a breath. The kerosene lamp slipped from his hand and shattered, but he didn't spare it so much as a glance. In a moment, her gaze found his. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her forehead creased in silent panic. When she tried again, he quickly leaned in until her lips were brushing his ear.

"_Bass?"_ It was barely even a voice, just a soft breath of wind that barely made a sound. But he heard it all the same.

He pulled back so he could see her face again. He wanted to make sure she was still with him.

When her eyes fluttered again, Bass wrenched into action. Seeing the shattered lamp, he yanked the bed sheet from his arm and ripped it in two, then looked back at his wife.

Mind suddenly blank, Bass tried frantically to remember how to treat a punctured lung. Apply pressure? Try to inflate the lung manually? But, try as he might, Bass couldn't remember a single procedure that might save her life.

Maybe one of his men would know…

"Dammit, someone come help her!" Bass' voice echoed in the still night air. But no answering voice or call to arms echoed back. The tent was as silent as a tomb.

Giving up hope for help, Bass grabbed the sheet, praying it was what he needed. He slipped an arm underneath Charlie's slim shoulders, gently trying to raise her up to a sitting position, but a weak groan from her forced him to stop. Brushing a kiss across her cool forehead, Bass pressed the snowy fabric to her chest, being careful not to put too much pressure on the damaged lung.

"Charlie?" Nothing. Bass tightened his hold on her. "You're fine." He swept a piece of white-gold hair back from her eyes, which fluttered open at his touch. Smiling down at her, Bass noted vacantly that her tan face had lost nearly all its color. And when he pulled the wad of fabric back slightly from her chest, he saw quickly that the flow of blood from the wound had decreased significantly – a stark contrast to the alarming amount of blood already staining the bed sheet black in the dim light.

As muddled as Bass' thoughts were, he knew enough to realize that it was far from a good sign.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Bass met her gaze again, hers having never left his face. Her lips looked thin and pale as they turned up into a hesitant smile; a smile that reached even her eyes. Breath catching, Bass tried to speak but found he couldn't.

His beautiful Charlie was dying_, _but still she smiled up at him.

One shaky breath later, Charlie's smile dimmed and the light faded from behind her blue eyes-

And she was gone.

* * *

When Bass finally woke up, he was cold and alone, his hands still gripping a strip of pristine white cotton.

Like Alex and Miles, Charlie too had disappeared; and as Monroe struggled to his feet in a daze, the many bright points of light that had been hovering over him for hours now instantly blinked into darkness…


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: First, If you still care about this story as much as I do... UMMM thanks! I feel terrible for not updating for so long. But good news: I'm heading home for spring break, and I'm turning all my attention to writing (after I say hello to my puppy!). After that, I'll try to keep everything going, but updates might be sporadic - however they will keep coming!**

* * *

Not that there was anything particularly surprising about getting woken up from a deep sleep at 6 a.m. by the bellowing orders of a somewhat-deranged, certainly-psychotic dictator…

_But_, Alex mused darkly as he struggled to pull on his second boot, _it's certainly not for everyone._

Finally, after nearly two and a half minutes of stumbling around his tent, trying to find the clothes he'd left strewn about in the wake of last night's… unexpected surprise, he was ready to go. Shrugging on his somewhat wrinkled overcoat with a grimace, Alex made his way out of the tent and toward the sounds of Monroe finally and truly loosing it.

He didn't even bother to look back at the woman still lying asleep in his bed.

Mouth quirking on one side, Alex pushed all non-Monroe-related thoughts out of his head. He had enough to deal with, apparently, without being distracted by some chick who'd shown up without warning in his tent last night…

Alex's mouth curled into a full-on smirk.

But she _had_ proved to be one Hell of a distraction.

A sudden burst of sound on his left made him lunge to the side, barely dodging the oncoming bullet.

Unable to fight his momentum, Alex hit the ground hard, but was otherwise uninjured. A sharp stab of pain in his side made him wince. Almost uninjured.

Crouching low behind a nearby water barrel in order to remain out of the line of fire, Alex cautiously peered around the side, trying to find his attacker.

It didn't take long. Monroe, gun still poised midair, was staring straight at him, dark fury lining his features.

"Where is she, Alex?" Monroe's voice was as unsteady as his gun, but both managed to still seem lethal. Mind scrambling to catch up, Alex tried stalling him.

"_Who_?" Barely dodging the answering bullet, Alex shouted, "Dammit, Monroe! What the Hell are you talking about-"

"Don't lie to me!" Another holly of bullets aimed at Alex battered against the barrel's solid wooden and metal siding. "What did you do with her?"

"I don't even know who you're talking about!" Alex braced for another attack, but none came. In its place a sudden silence fell over the whole camp – not that anyone was actually still asleep; only that no one was stupid enough to get in Monroe's way when he was like this.

Calling himself an absolute moron for not bringing his gun, Alex carefully shifted to the side, trying to see around the side of the barrel without getting his head blown off.

The camp was only barely visible in the still, shadowy dawn. Against his better judgment, Alex knew a brief moment of fear – nothing more than a little shudder running the length of his spine. There was no basis for it, but… something about that morning made a man feel as though the sun couldn't rise soon enough.

A subtle shift in the sock soil to his right brought Alex reeling around, too late, to face his General. He found Monroe's gun hovering about two inches from his forehead, with the man's deadly glare not far behind. Despite being surprised, Alex was almost impressed. He knew the militia's leader had a reputation for stealth, among many other, more colorful things; but still, it had been a while since anyone had been able to sneak up on _him_, considering he had quite an impressive skill set of his own.

But the fact remained that he was staring down the barrel of a mad-man's gun – not exactly the time to lose focus.

For a long moment everything was quiet. Neither he nor the General seemed willing to condescend to clarify the situation, so neither man spoke. But that didn't stop Alex from indulging in a few choice words silently, and doing his damnedest to prove the long-running theory that looks really could kill.

"-_the Hell_ is going on out here?" The moment was shattered by a very irate Matthew Forbes storming out of his tent. Despite his own very imminent death, Alex couldn't help rolling his eyes in disgust. The General's most trusted officer was standing in the middle of camp in boxers and half a robe – half, because it seemed Forbes had felt the present crisis too urgent to bother with even the most obvious societal norms. Evidently unconcerned that he was flashing anyone unfortunate enough to be nearby at the time, the grey-haired officer took in the scene before him with characteristic confusion.

"What the devil, Monroe?" Despite his best efforts, Forbes had never quite lost that genteel British accent his parents had left him. Because of it, and quite possibly despite the man himself, his presence always seemed to instill a sense of wry civility in the men around him.

After all, even when the whole world goes to Hell, the British can always be counted on as the keepers of decorum and proper etiquette.

"Bloody Hell, man." Forbes said it with a sort of shocked and embarrassed outrage – and breathlessly, as the man had appeared in quite a hurry. "Why don't you sit down, sir, and we'll sort this out."

But Alex – who's eyes had wisely never left the man holding a gun to his head – already knew that talking to Monroe was useless. All he had to do was look up at the General's unfocused eyes, staring with no small terror at something just behind Alex – something Alex felt quite certain was not really there – and he knew: there could be no reasoning with this man. In no world could the two of them truly work together to bring down the rest of the continent.

Monroe was a liability. And what's more, he was a deranged, deluded, and – Alex's practicality finally overcame his pride - dangerous liability.

The General was past his prime. He was clearly, maddeningly insane. And he only mattered to Alex so long as he helped bring about his own destruction.

There would be no alliance. Alex had hoped he could use the General – use Monroe until he'd positioned himself as the next leader of the Republic in the event anything tragic should happen to its leader…

But now, it was becoming abundantly clear that Monroe was only going to get in his way. And Alex knew what had to be done. An agonized groan from Monroe, as the gun wavered before Alex's eyes, as the man began to look startlingly pale, only reaffirmed Alexander Hamilton's newfound conviction.

He was going to have to kill the President of the New Republic. And soon.

* * *

"Are you really going to kill him too, Bass?" The gun nearly fell from Monroe's hand, but he didn't turn to look. Shaking his head, Bass tried to tell himself that it wasn't really… that it couldn't be…

But Emma had never been one to be easily put off.

Before Monroe really knew what was happening, she was there, her pale hand pulling on his arm. He watched in horror as the gun he was holding lowered to his side and then dropped to the ground. That actually wasn't surprising since Monroe seemed to have lost all feeling in his fingers.

Something about seeing the woman you once loved, silently, for so many years – and who was dead now – will do that to you.

_She's dead_. Bass tried frantically to stop the vision of Connor's mother. _She's dead. Gone-_

"Gone, but not forgotten, I see." Emma's voice made Bass jerk back, his boots catching on something and making him stumble. As he crashed to the earth, Monroe forgot about Alex, forgot about Forbes, forgot about- well, he still couldn't forget about Charlie, but for once, she slipped into the background of his thoughts while he hurriedly tried to back away from her. But Emma followed after him, looking down on him with soft, gentle eyes.

"You're- not real." Shaking his head, trying to clear his vision, Monroe sincerely hoped he was dreaming. That it had all been a dream, that Miles… that Charlie hadn't really- Emma's figure loomed over him, bringing all his thoughts to a dead stop. "You're dead," Bass whispered, looking into a face he'd never dreamed of seeing again.

The smile Emma gave him then was small and sad.

"Well, you'd know that better than anyone, wouldn't you, Bass? After all, you're why I'm dead. Right?"

Monroe wouldn't deny it. After all, it was true. He was why Dannie was dead. Why Ben, and Emma, and probably Connor… And Charlie-

With a wrenching cry, memories of her flooded back. Her sweet, dangerous smile- and her last, small, broken smile.

He didn't notice or care when the tears began rolling down his jaw. Nothing mattered, nothing was worth a _damn_ if she wasn't-

A numbing strength flowed back into his limbs. He picked up the gun, ignoring the shouts, and the faces around him. Even Emma's presence didn't faze him anymore. They were a blur, nothing. Voices raised in a concert of discord, but it didn't reach him. The gun felt light, easy, lighter than anything. It felt so light as he raised it to his temple-

-And pulled the trigger.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Sorry if the last chapter seemed a little scattered or short. I meant to post more in that chapter, but my account was and still is acting up... So here's the next chapter, and it's really a continuation of the previous chapter. Hope it clears a few things up for you all! And thanks for being so patient over the past few months - you're all wonderful!**

* * *

The whole camp plunged into chaos. From the moment Monroe picked up the gun, shouts were flying and hardened soldiers were saying their prayers. Monroe deftly cocked the gun, the glaze over his eyes a clear warning. Everyone ducked.

Everyone except Alex. He couldn't seem to stop watching. So he saw everything – the fear in Monroe's eyes, the despair, the desperation, and then the resolution. Suddenly Alex knew what was going to happen next, but he couldn't look away from the man he'd so underestimated. He watched in a sort of stunned fascination as the General lifted the gun to rest against the side of his head.

Monroe wasn't just crazy. He was _suicidal_.

As the desperate man before him put his finger on the trigger, Alex couldn't stop thinking about a sweet little blonde bitch who was just about to lose her last defender/protector. Because Charlotte Matheson sure as Hell wasn't going to last long in the Hamilton Republic. Alex would make sure of that…

Worried his thoughts were straying too far ahead, he forced his attention back to his current victory. Almost-victory. Lips twitching up into a small, dark smile that no one else saw, Alex waited patiently for the gunshot that would kill the Monroe Republic and hand him the empire on a silver plate.

A collective shout went out from the men when Monroe pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked, and the gun fired-

-But a second later their General was still standing.

Alex's smile withered to nothing but shock. And then rage – masked as shock.

In a moment, a rush of bodies blocked his view of the General. The soldiers, free from their stupor and fear, had found the courage to finally restrain their Commander-in-Chief, before he tried to kill himself again.

Alex surged to his feet, still just a few feet away from the man, but desperate to see what happened next. He shoved his way forward under the pretext of concern, trying to remember not to injure any of the men he would soon lead while doing so.

Monroe didn't react when his men first laid hold of him. Two officers – one of them a very pale and serious-looking Forbes – had pinned his arms behind his back, and another was trying to get the General to look at him, with no success.

"We need to get him inside his tent," Forbes said, his eyes quickly scanning the crowd of wary soldiers that had begun to gather around their commander. "_Now_." Alex followed his gaze. The men weren't saying anything, but their eyes said it all – they couldn't trust their General now, couldn't trust that he wasn't completely crazy, and couldn't trust that he wouldn't try it again.

A warm, pleasant feeling settled in Alex's chest. He forced himself to trip on a soldiers feet, and he fell back down to the ground where Monroe had cornered him. He coughed deliberately, pretending to choke on the dust he'd fallen into, drawing the attention of the men around him. Many of them turned from watching Forbes and the others trying to lead the General away and shifted their attention to Alex, who was still on the ground, where Monroe had nearly murdered him in cold blood. More than one soldier offered a helpful hand to Alex, and he pulled himself up to stand beside them. Slowly, them men began to circle around Alex, muttering _what the Hell was that about? _and _why would he want to kill you, Alex?_

Instead of answering them right away, Alex looked pointedly at the small procession stopped just outside the safety of the General's tent. One of the other two men had taken Forbes' place at Monroe's left shoulder so that Forbes could try to reason with a now nearly-feral Monroe. He was shouting, cursing, biting, and clawing at his captors, his chilling eyes still fixed on his gun, which had fallen to the ground in all the confusion.

Seeing his chance, Alex took it. He walked forward, secretly gratified when the crown of men around him parted respectfully to make way. When he reached Monroe's gun he scooped it up and weighed it in his hands. Then, looking directly at his General – who'd fallen strangely silent as he tracked Alex's movements – Alex carefully tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants. Even across the short distance separating them, Alex could see what it did to him – to Monroe.

His fevered eyes dimmed and the great man seemed to cave in on himself. The proud shoulders slumped, and the infamous gaze lost its focus. Alex waited while the fight drained out of their leader, leaving nothing behind but a shell.

Monroe didn't say a word when Forbes and the other two finally pulled him into his tent.

Turning his back on the ridiculous scene, he faced the men – now gathered around him, looking dazed and confused. Alex searched their faces, hoping to see a measure of the same disgust he felt.

He wasn't disappointed.

* * *

Alex was fighting a smile. It hadn't taken much, just a few leading questions, a few pointed hints, and Monroe's own men were ready to turn against him. Not all of them were happy about it, but most were able to see reason.

The writing on the wall clear to everyone. If the Republic was going to make it, especially now after Texas had handily taken down the Patriot forces, it needed a strong leader. Not a broken, obsessive, and insane man like Sebastian Monroe.

So he needed to go.

"We can't just overthrow the President!" A young officer – something Rogers – was holding his head in his hands, fingers combing distractedly through his blonde waves. Obviously gathering up his courage, the boy suddenly leapt to his feet, trying to address Hamilton and the rest of the men at the same time. "You don't know for sure that he won't recover. We can't just give up on him."

"Like he hasn't already given up on us? The bastard put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. I think that counts as a resignation." The voice rose from somewhere in the crowd of soldiers, all gathered on the far side of camp to decide what to do about Monroe. Most of the officers had long since retreated into their own tents after Forbes had refused them access to Monroe. The rest of the men were restless. They wanted answers. They wanted someone to fix the problem living right under their noses.

And Alex was only too happy to give them what they wanted

The men all nodded in assent, some grumbling something about how the same thing had happened in the Old Republic. Monroe had lost his shit - maybe he hadn't been suicidal then, but he'd been crazy alright – and then the people had lost faith in him.

It was really a miracle Monroe'd managed to scrape together a New Republic in light of his rather dismal record. But that's what being a war hero will do for you. Everyone was so _grateful_ after he'd helped Texas put an end to the Patriots, most of the citizens of the old Republic had been ready to welcome back their leader with open arms. After all, maybe Monroe hadn't exactly been a benevolent dictator, but he had created order out of chaos – and sometimes, that's all you can ask for.

But if a better option came along, you'd be a fool not to take it.

Cutting off whatever idealistic response Rogers had hoped to share with the group, Alex began the subtle task of showing them a better option.

"It's a sad day for the Republic." He let his words hang, knowing everyone's eyes were fixed solely on him, hanging on his every word. As the first victim of their President's most recent decent into madness, they all thought of him as having a special sort of authority on the subject. Alex wasn't about to let that go to waste.

"I've only know the President personally for about a year." Alex paused, and looked around, meeting many of their gazes until he landed on Rogers. The young man was looking up at him with a desperate, pleading expression. Alex molded his lips into a sad smile. "He's a remarkable man. He's led this Republic through war and peace – he's done as well for us as any one man can do. He's given the Republic his life…" The men waited anxiously, their hearts quickening with guilt at this unexpected praise for Sebastian Monroe. Alex let their consciences stew for a moment before reaching out a hand to grip young Rogers' shoulder. The boy glanced up at him, not embarrassed by/unashamed of the sheen of tears in his eyes. Keeping his hold on Rogers, he turned to address the rest of the soldiers.

"And now, President Monroe has given the Republic his mind as well. You're right lieutenant." He turned back to Rogers, infusing his voice with practiced sympathy. "We don't know if he'll ever recover. And even if he does, for how long? How long until he tries to kill someone else? How long before he becomes as paranoid as he was during the old Republic?"

A low, uneasy murmur rippled through the men's ranks. It was no wonder why – even the infantrymen had heard the story of Captain Jeremy Baker. Whisperings of his tragic death had seeped into the very fabric of the New Republic. While many civilians had simply accepted it, to avoid unraveling the rosy image they had of their returning ruler, it remained a topic frequently and quietly discussed among the soldiers themselves.

Alex, himself, could never understand what the problem was. Monroe had suspected Baker of treason. The man had been a potential threat. Why shouldn't he have killed the man?

Mentally shaking himself, Alex knew he could never be so blunt with the men. They saw Baker as one of them – a tragic hero, cut down by the very man he'd fought to protect. Monroe on the other hand, was something of a mystery to the men in his vast army. He was a symbol of respect, but also of fear and loathing. He was beloved and despised in equal measure by those who knew him best and by those who knew him not at all.

Monroe was an enigma to his people. And, perhaps for the last time, it was going to work against him.

"I, for one, don't want to watch Monroe ruin his own legacy, and I _can't_ watch him take the Republic down with him if that's where he's headed." Alex took an exaggerated breath – even looked up at the sky, jaw clenched, eyes troubled – pretending to struggle for words The men leaned forward, brows furrowed deep in concentration.

No one wanted to say what they were all thinking. But Alex was tired of waiting. He wanted action, and the men were _finally_ ready to listen. They all knew that something had to be done about Monroe.

"I think it's time to-"

A sudden crash of thunder drew every man's gaze to the sky – but there were no clouds in sight. Instead, a perfectly clear, mid-morning sky was looking down at them. But the good weather did nothing to settle the unease that had gripped them all so suddenly. Every man, his eyes downcast, began to mutter some excuse to his comrade before quietly slipped away from the group until only Alex and young Rogers were left. Staring after the men, Alex hardly noticed the lieutenant's presence in his fury.

He'd been so close. Just a few moments more and-

He looked down and saw Rogers' surprisingly keen eyes staring back at him. Quickly schooling his face into a mask of pity and conscientious grief, he gave the young man a sympathetic smile. But Rogers' expression didn't change. Instead, the young lieutenant got up suddenly, forcing Alex to take a step back in surprise. Eyes narrow and watchful, Rogers looked far from the naïve boy Alex had always believed him to be.

Rogers took his time, studying Alex in silence for nearly a minute. Alex let him – it was better to have it all out in the open to begin with if they were going to have a problem. Bracing himself, Alex prepared to charm the young man, make him question his own sanity for ever suspecting anything untoward of his commanding officer just because he'd try to fill the void Monroe had recently left…

But it never came to that. After all his silence, Rogers sighed and dropped his head.

"It sounds…" He glanced up, catching Alex's eyes. Something serious lurked behind the boy's open expression, but Alex didn't have the time to place it. Rogers' mouth tipped up into a half-smile, shifting his eyes to glance up at the empty sky.

"... like a storm's coming." When his eyes dropped back to meet Alex's, they were once again deadly serious. Inclining his head a fraction, young Rogers kept his eyes squarely on his superior officer.

"You take care, sir." Without another word, Rogers saluted and took his leave.

For a few long minutes, Alex didn't move. Something about the lieutenant gave him pause - he seemed far more perceptive than Alex would've ever given him credit for.

For Rogers' sake, Alex hoped the young man wouldn't prove to be a problem. It would be a shame to have to kill him too.

_Loyal soldiers are so hard to come by these days._

Chuckling under his breath, Alex absently pulled Monroe's gun from his waistband and held it in his palms. It was a shame really that Monroe hadn't been sane enough to load the damn thing before trying to kill himself.

A damn shame.

Rolling his eyes, Alex consoled himself with the fact that at least he had a new gun. After a moment, he broke into a smile. _And,_ he recalled, _the look on Monroe's face when I took his gun away was priceless._

Savoring the memory, Alex pulled out his own ammo. He hadn't been able to get rid of Monroe today, but he'd decided on the gun he was going to use when he finally got around to blowing the bastard's brains out.

Killing a man with his own gun - there was a sort of poetic justice to it... Or at least irony.

But first he had to make sure it worked. It wouldn't do to have the gun jamming when he was facing down the General. lost in his dreams of that day, Alex was hardly paying attention as he unloaded Monroe's gun, letting the bullets inside fall harmlessly into his hand...

Attention snapping into focus, Alex's cold eyes fixed on the the now-empty gun and bullets in his hands.

Monroe _had_ loaded the gun. Alex gritted his teeth.

Monroe. Should. Be. _Dead._

"Oh, Alex, we thought you were so much smarter than this."

Without thinking, Alex had dropped Monroe's gun and drawn his own before whipping around to face the speaker. Something about the voice... so calm, so confident, so... inhuman, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

But when he looked down the barrel of his gun, all Alex could see was a beautiful young woman staring back at him without the smallest hint of fear, despite the fact that she was being held at gunpoint.

Her bright red hair, large green eyes, and stunning figure would've made more of an impression on Alex had he not seen them all before...

"You...?" The woman who'd come to him last night. He'd just assumed she was one of the prostitutes that often travelled with the battalion. But... something about her, even then, had given him pause. He just hadn't stopped long enough to consider what it might be. He hadn't even thought about it again when he'd left her lying in his bed this morning.

Eyes widening, Alex looked the woman over again, his hands tightening involuntarily on the gun when even recognition did little to dispel his sudden unease. But the woman only smirked at him, batting her eyes at him in a silent challenge.

"Surprised?" Her voice was even stranger and more beautiful than he remembered. So perfect and bewitching. So alien and cold.

"Who are you?" His voice sounded harsh in the sudden silence. The woman looked at him, all innocence and mockery.

"We're the ones who just saved Sebastian Monroe's life."

His brain refused to process that at first. But after a moment, more than anything Alex wanted to know _how_ that was possible- but there was another, more important question that had to be answered first. Keeping the gun trained on her, Alex forced his voice to come out level, although he felt unusually nervous.

"On the off chance you're not crazy as shit, why would you even bother?"

Without skipping a beat, the woman flicked her hand and the gun flew out of Alex's hands and into the air, until it landed nearly a hundred feet away. His heart nearly stopped. But instead of freezing, Alex lunged for Monroe's gun, laying in the dust where he'd dropped it. In a frantic attempt, Alex tried to load the gun, scrabbling for the bullets that had fallen from Monroe's gun-

But his movements suddenly became sluggish and clumsy, until he could no longer even support the gun in his hands. He watched in helpless terror as it fell back to the ground. Even his voice shriveled to nothing, and his now-scattered thoughts remained trapped inside his head.

He wasn't sure how, but he somehow remained upright, sitting back on his knees, his head hanging down. Soon enough, a pair of bright yellow converse ambled up to stand before him. A soft hand followed, gripping his short hair and pulling his head back so that he could see her. When his eyes met hers, he tried to mask the fear. Personal experience had shown him that fear was like an aphrodisiac predators.

Fear was certainly what had always done it for him.

But from the size of her smile, he knew she could still see it.

"There's no need to be so rude, Alex. We're going to be on the same side after all." She smiled down at him, her hand sliding down to cradle the side of his face. "And don't worry. Yes, I am controlling you, and yes, it is only temporary. Unless you try and use that gun again." Taking a moment, she examined his face. Then, her other hand came down to rest on his left temple, and he immediately felt lightheaded. She, on the other hand, only seemed to grow more radiant, her smile rivaling the sun in it's brilliance. After almost a minute of whatever it was she was doing to him, Alex knew he was going to pass out. Desperately, he tried to reach up and rip her hand away from his head - he needed to get away from her. _Now._ But his arms wouldn't move.

He couldn't move.

Just when he was about to lose consciousness, she laughed lightly, clearly enjoying herself. Suddenly, she moved her hand away from his temple and entwined it once again in his dark hair.

As he slowly began to regain awareness, she continued, trusting he would listen.

"As to your other question, it's quite simple, Alex. Monroe can't die because we're not done with him yet." Somehow, Alex must've still managed to look confused even in his controlled state because the woman rolled her eyes and smiled condescendingly at him, making his skin crawl. "You humans - you're all so short-sighted. You've no idea what you could be... what I could make you into..." Shaking her head, she fixed her enigmatic eyes squarely on him, her full lips turning up into a coy smirk. "We've been... poking around inside your General's head for the past for months. Nothing he would notice, just leaving a few suggestions here and there. Letting him act on them. Bringing to life the occasional figment of his imagination to help lead him on if he gets too far off course." Brushing her thumb against his lips, she leaned in closer studying his eyes and expression with clinical interest. "It's really been quite a interesting experiment. But's it's time to move onto the next stage." She touched his lips again, and this time he was able to move them in response.

"The 'next stage?' The next stage of what?" Alex's sudden ability to speak again didn't seem to surprise the woman. Instead, she simply smiled at him slightly, her eyes clearly saying she was not about to answer him. Suddenly determined to get at least one answer out of the bizarre exchange, Alex pushed her.

"You still haven't answered my question-" Her expression became so chilling, he stopped, his tone shifting from demanding to pleading in an instant. "Who are you?"

The woman smiled kindly at him, but it was still enough to spark an instinctive fear within even someone like Alex. There was something _off_ about her. Something powerful, but so wrong...

"We're the Nano, Alex. And we have a very important job for you."


End file.
